tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-135457682024-02-18T23:28:56.383-05:00The Wandering Travels of ABTourists See, Travelers Seek.Adam Braunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17009168290066495306noreply@blogger.comBlogger37125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13545768.post-39521051824751650652009-08-11T16:29:00.001-04:002009-08-11T16:30:44.802-04:00SE Asia Adventures #8 - Stateside Return & PicturesKings, Queens, and Jesters,<br /><br />Greetings from Chicago, USA. Whoah... I've never written one of these from the states, so even typing those three letters seems strange. I know this concluding update is long overdue, but certain things happened in the final weeks of my trip that led to this being delayed. Most notably, I focused the pen to my leather-bound journal rather than keyboard strokes and enveloped myself in the tree-soaked hills of Thailand and Laos rather than her far-less scenic internet cafes. My only ask from each of you is that if you've read some/most of these, please let me know. I've found that my friends know they'll hear the stories in person so they don't read the emails as often (and they're long as hell haha), but many of you I don't know well apparently read the travel tales so please reach out and I'll make sure you're more directly included in future sendouts. And of course if you've followed things thus far, please visit www.PencilsOfPromise.org to find out more or make a donation or get involved in the movement we're creating...<br /><br />The final 3-4 weeks of the trip consisted of time spent in Northern Thailand's Chiang Mai and Pai. Activities included playing with baby and massive tigers at the Tiger Kingdom, many waterfall swims, hot springs, foot massages, delicious pad thai, meditation, late nights at The Rooftop and Rockers bars, and many miles logged on a solo motorbike riding through the mountainous region. To say I fell in love with Pai is a large understatement, it's just a tremendously special little town with a powerfully positive energy that I highly recommend each of you check out.<br /><br />In Laos the agenda was dictated by Pencils of Promise matters, which included many, many muddy village visits across remote regions of Luang Prabang province, several great meetings with Education Ministry and other government folks, and lots of intriguing conversation with my buddy Kevin Slemp who met up for several weeks. My third visit to the country only reiterated how strongly I feel about the land of a thousand smiles and no dollars... Oh, and we have a finished school in Pha Teung that looks awesome and our first Lao coordinator as a resource on the ground for any of you that want to visit and check things out! We also spent three days at The Gibbon Experience, which is a series of 21 zip lines and 5 shadily-built but large treehouses several hundred feet above the Bokeo province national park canopy. For several magical days and nights we literally lived in the treetops, gliding hundreds of meters across valley ravines all day and sleeping in a treehouse 250ft above the ground with 6 others, completely unsupervised and only accessible through a 300m zipline. Mindblowingly cool stuff.<br /><br />I'm flying through the final weeks' itinerary because as usual with these trips, one of the most profound experiences is always the time spent at home afterwords. There's no doubt that the greatest culture shock of each trip isn't found in some third-world town, but in the return to America where nothing and everything seems to have changed all at once. I've now been stateside for long enough to have made the visits to water my roots- Connecticut, NYC and Brown University. In each place I've been recentered through the love of family and friends, which can now really be meshed into simply "family". Many thanks to each of you for being as amazingly awesome as you are. I now find myself in Chicago doing work to build out the PoP network and enjoy a weekend of Lollapalooza music, with the time and energy and clarity to write this final email containing a few trailing thoughts:<br /><br />- NYC is an absolute animal. She pulls and twists and slaps you in the face with everything you could ever want... but if you don't have the ability to occasionally say no, she's going to eat you alive. I unfortunately haven't found the ability to say no yet.<br /><br />- We have everything in the United States. This is by far the greatest country in the world, and completely deserves the reference as "the land of freedom and opportunity"... the only thing we often lack, myself included, is the awareness of such gifts in our everyday life.<br /><br />Lastly, when I began my trip in March it was the hottest time of year in Laos, and while riding my motorbike I'd often pass tiny fires along the countryside. Small plumes of smoke drifted aimlessly from the soil into serene air on every hillside. This wasn't slash and burn agriculture, it was simply arid conditions leading to brittle wood and leaves catching fire. When I returned to Laos in July the monsoon rains had already been cascading across the countryside for weeks, and the once barren fields were now exploding with greenery and goodness. Everywhere I looked I saw the emergence of new life and growth in familiar locations, facilitated by the consistent thunder and rainfall.<br /><br />Now that I'm home it's struck me how important both the fires and the rains were to achieving what can only be described as organic harmony. Both enabled a natural process of cleansing, which simultaneously empowered future growth in each area they touched. The fires burned out the clutter of the lands, which perfectly captures what the first half of the trip did for me mentally, emotionally and spiritually. Once those unhealthy elements had been removed, the rains of new life showered both the countryside and the journey... stimulating new thoughts, new friendships, and new beliefs. Now that I'm back stateside the fires and rain have been quelled for a bit, but fortunately they've seeped through the soil and with each new day I can only hope that they sink deeper and deeper into the roots.<br /><br />Still walkin' down the many roads,<br />Adam<br /><br />Pictures from the Trip- PoP On the Ground 1, Laos & South Thailand, Malaysia, Brunei, Borneo & Indonesia, Nepal, Cambodia, North Thailand, The Gibbon Experience<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Key Trip Statistics</span><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Days</span>- 124<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Song of Note</span>- "One Time" by Justin Bieber. Signed by my genius brother off Youtube and soon to be the biggest star in the world, jump on the wagon for the ride. You don't have to be a teenage girl to acknowledge how talented he is... but if you are one prepare to subscribe to Tigerbeat Magazine. Go Scooter Go.<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Album of Note</span>- "In Rainbows" by Radiohead. For a long time I've acknowledged Radiohead's epic status among true music heads, but didn't get it. This sucker opened up that door for me, and there's no turning back. The most textured music I've ever heard and felt by probably the best band on the planet. If there's one thing I can leave you with, it's to buy this album and make it the soundtrack to your days.<br /><br />MUCH LOVE AND MANY HUGSAdam Braunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17009168290066495306noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13545768.post-73529845156020943822009-06-20T01:21:00.002-04:002009-06-20T01:25:16.323-04:00SE Asia Adventures- #7: Kathmandu and CambodiaSmalls, mediums and larges,<br /><br />Greetings from Phnom Penh, Cambodia. I hope this email finds each of you in health, happiness and awareness. You’re probably thinking, “You said you weren’t going to Cambodia on this trip.” This is true, but I couldn’t deny the value of visiting my mentor/inspiration Scott Neeson at the Cambodian Children’s Fund to pick his brain, see some of the adorable kids I’ve sponsored and emailed for years, and discuss partnership opportunities between the CCF, A New Day Cambodia Girl’s Orphanage and PoP… So here I am. I last wrote from Kathmandu where I was still in fever recovery mode from the Annapurna trek. Fortunately, I was able to settle into a really unforgettable week in Nepal’s capital through the help of several great friends.<br /><br />Following my dad’s departure I was immediately whisked to the Yellow Guesthouse, a true oasis of comfort, delicious food and even better people just outside the bustling Thamel area. My good friends Anna and Steve are basically family with the Swiss-French owner and his Nepali wife, so I was given a huge room and a warm welcome from the entire staff. Right away I shared a beer-filled lunch with some of the guesthouse’s semi-permanent inhabitants- Jacquie is a Frenchman in his late 60’s who lives with a pack of 39 tigers as a forester in the Nepali and Indian national reserve lands, Rick is a gentle Texan who runs an art shop between Kathmandu/Paris and was actually in the Andaman Islands when the Tsunami struck (his entire beachfront bungalow filled with water but he luckily survived), Nadia is a 30-something Canadian who teaches rehabilitation and self-help courses to battered woman, children and jailed offenders in Kathmandu, and the list goes on. Everything at the Yellow House is communal- you eat your meals, share drinks, play ping pong and bocce, or discuss the day’s events always with others. It’s a true slice of effervescent disco lemonade and highly recommended by this guy.<br /><br />Kathmandu happens to be an outwardly dirty and noisy city. At first glance it lacks all charm, and seems to be overrun by people, cows and NGO’s… but once you peel back the surface and see it through a local’s eye, the city is actually filled with hidden gems. Candlelit bars, traditional restaurants, kind nods of “Namaste” and palms pressed against one another in devotion and respect await those who give Kathmandu a chance to win them over through its toothless grin. Anna, Steve and I said our prayers at the ancient monkey-filled (real monkeys, not statues) temple of Swoyambhu (arguably the world’s oldest active temple) and spent time at the tiny home and feet of one of Kathmandu’s most powerful female spiritual healers. After they left I went to see the massive stuppa at Bodona, visited the 12th century city of Bahktapur with its towering pagodas, and witnessed riverfront cremation ceremonies at Pashupati, Nepal’s version of Varanassi.<br /><br />On Anna and Steve’s final night there was a massive farewell dinner at the Yellow House with family-style pasta, gin, beer and bocce. My good buddy Rory from Bain had just moved to Kathmandu, so he joined us for a huge night highlighted by our savage beating of “the French team” by “the American team” (apparently it’s like their national sport, whereas it was Rory and my first game ever) to the cheers of an all-French crowd that loved heckling their experienced but drunken countrymen. Over the next few days I toured more of the city, dined with Rory and friends at night, and on my last day met up with a Nepali friend of a friend named Pranab. It was an extremely bittersweet day, because as Pranab and I discussed Nepali vs. American culture and education in his newly built bookstore, the sold out Pencils of Promise White Party was erupting in New York City.<br /><br />Oh how it killed me to not be there… but in starting to plan out the event back in February, it was always understood that I wouldn’t be there to attend. It would be an opportunity for all those who expressed an interest in getting involved with PoP to actually take full ownership over the event and the org, effectively expanding it far beyond any personal network and into the youthful NYC masses, and through the incredible hard work of the PoP leadership, volunteers and summer internship teams they put on a beautifully epic night (for pics checkout http://www.flickr.com/photos/pencilsofpromise/sets/72157619752494639/show/). You guys are seriously amazing. I also had this indescribable feeling, one of those where you don’t really “feel” but rather “know”, that important things would happen on the ground in SE Asia around the time of the event. Fortunately the fates dealt an ace of spades that day.<br /><br />Without my knowledge Pranab had invited a woman of enormous intellect and presence, Sadhana Shrestha, who for the past 8 years had been Nepal’s head of Ashoka (a massive organization that has given stipends to innovative social entrepreneurs for many years), to meet with me at the bookstore. We immediately hit it off, and within 5 minutes of our conversation’s start she began telling me about an Ashoka Fellow who founded and had now been running a countrywide organization for 30 years that provides early childhood education programs and learning centers/schools to women and children in poor, rural areas of Nepal. She mentioned that her office was just a 10 minute walk away but she didn’t have her cell phone, so without thinking I immediately asked, “Can you draw me a map? I’ll walk there now and try to find her. I’ve got to meet this woman."<br /><br />The map was drawn, and suddenly I found myself walking alone through random side streets of a Nepali neighborhood in search of an unmarked building, on a street they thought it might be on, to convince a woman who chances were wouldn’t even be there at 4pm on what happened to be a national holiday, that she should meet and talk with a random 25-year old stranger for several hours about her work… But as I said, the PoP event was going on in NYC at that same moment, so I had the ace of spades on my side. After 45 minutes of walking through the exhausting heat, knocking on many random doors, shadily entering several empty homes, and a motorbike ride by a nameless man who took me to her office’s doorstep, I arrived to shake hands with Agatha Thapa.<br /><br />In her late 50's, Agatha wore a bright green traditional sari that paled beside her luminescent spirit, vigor and ambition. She’s a fighter. It’s clear from the moment you meet her that she’s lived her entire life overcoming the hardships of adversity and naysayers, bolstered by the prioritization of education and female empowerment in a country where egalitarianism is as common as political stability (this is sarcasm… they have neither). What started as a conversation about each of our backgrounds quickened in pace and excitement as we realized the many partnership opportunities to better each others’ organization and educational outreach… Two hours later we left her office only because their electricity shuts off at 5pm and we were now talking in the dark… Kindred spirits for sure. As I left her, I offhandedly said, “Well I’m so glad I decided not to return to New York for this party and got to meet you instead.” She immediately stopped, looked with penetrating intent into my eyes, and stated, “You did not make any decision. G-d has made this decision. Do you believe me, because I know this.” She still didn’t move, letting the question hang in the air. “Yes, I believe you” I said, and then I left with her words, her conviction, her radiance and her infectious resilience written onto the corners of that ace of spades.<br /><br />Later that night I shared a lengthy conversation and dinner with Sadhana, Pranab and his friend Suvani, and the following morning I flew out of Kathmandu heading for Phnom Penh, but there was a slight issue. The entire city was shut down by a full day of huge political protests. Any taxi or motorbike was beaten with sticks, and I had to somehow get about 20km to the airport. I’ll share the detailed stories in person because my worry-filled grandmothers get these emails, but I fortunately made it unscathed on a bicycle-driven tuktuk through two pretty scary incidents where I was much closer to a mob beating than I ever want to be. Luckily many humble statements of hand-clasped “Namaste” and a look of sincere empathy with their cause got me out of two very sticky situations.<br /><br />Two days later and I found myself in the place where it all began, the Cambodian Children’s Fund. Four years ago while backpacking through Singapore, Thailand and Cambodia with two friends we were linked up with the CCF’s founder, Scott Neeson, who had just left his job as one of Hollywood’s top executives to move alone to Phnom Penh to build an orphanage/school for 40 kids out of the Steung Muenchey dumpster where they worked all day collecting hard plastics for 25 cents per potato sack filled. His work was the most heroic, trustworthy and tangible that I’d ever seen, so in efforts to become a part of what at the time was just him in a three-story building with three staff members and two computers, he allowed me to have a “CCF Fundraising Coordinator” title and business card. Until starting PoP in October, that was my pseudo-side job/passion for three years and I’m so grateful that he let me be a part of what he was creating... Scott has absolutely been a mentor and inspiration from Day 1.<br /><br />To say he’s made significant progress in four years would be the understatement of the century. He now has 500 kids, seven fully operational centers, a staff of 140, an amazing curriculum that includes everything from drama, music, karate and dance to phonetic English and excel tutorials, 100 or so computers for the staff and kids, around $2M in annual funding, and the love of every child in his program. When we’d arrive at each facility they’d mob Scott and I with hugs and handholding. Shockingly many remembered the 2005 visit (one in particular immediately asked “How is Dennis?!”, my Owen Wilson-like friend she developed a huge crush on within 2 minutes of meeting him… a four year crush, that’s serious). Over several days I was able to visit each CCF facility, visit the dump and its surrounding shanty-hut villages again to walk amongst the garbage-pickers in what can only be described as living hell (Scott couldn’t attend because he has pneumonia for the third time in 9 months from all the time he’s spent there and his doctor insisted he stay away until he’s regained full health!), discuss partnership opportunities, spend plenty of time with my angelic sponsored child Sokha (a former garbage-picker herself for as long as she can remember), and visit another tremendous orphanage NGO called A New Day Cambodia to see their amazing kids and meet with their wonderful Executive Director Annette Jenson. The children worship her, and rightfully so because she just gets it in every way, so we discussed the progress of their NGO, shared learnings, and laid a bit of groundwork for a potential volunteer-placement partnership.<br /><br />The past 10 days have been intense and enriching and wonderful. At Pashupati a national minister was being cremated at the main waterfront platform, flanked by thousands of onlookers. Rather than standing among the masses, I somehow came across and watched for 30 minutes as a small gathering of men poured rice, flowers and kerosene on the body of a parent wrapped in a brilliant orange cloth at the smallest and most distant platform designated for the untouchable Dalit caste, the lowest in Indian/Nepali culture. The wailing cries of the three shirtless brothers tore through every person nearby, and I was paralyzed by the ferocity and purity of their grief. As tradition dictates, the oldest brother has to light the initial fire in the mouth of the deceased parent, which he did while being held up by another man to keep from collapsing. Tears poured from the eyes of every one of us watching, as the body was instantly engulfed in towering flames… And yet only days later I found myself inside the CCF and ANDC facilities holding the hands of children literally brought back from the dead by the work of Scott Neeson and Annette Jenson.<br /><br />That cycle of death and rebirth goes on all around us every day, but we rarely get a chance to see it on such a personal, humanized level. To spend the morning in a garbage dump of human agony and an afternoon with its five-year-old survivors as they practice English, Excel and traditional Khmer dance provides a renewed sense of faith for anyone fortunate enough witness such acts of heroism. These experiences are rare, but they inspire us not to worry about trivial concerns and live whatever we are going through richly and deeply. To say I love you more often. To inhale life’s recipe of uppercuts and stardust fully, and exhale with the lionheart conviction of an Agatha Thapa and Sadhana Shrestha. Nepal and Cambodia have been the welcomed salt and pepper to these spicy travels, but for now it’s back to Laos for me, where the death of each night’s moon marks the birth of a new day, and another chance to leave a few footsteps in the land of no dollars and a thousand smiles.<br /><br />Walkin' down the many roads,<br />Adam<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Key Trip Statistics</span><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Days</span>- 97<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Song of Note</span>- "Love is Only a Feeling" by The Darkness. Such a jam. Huge chords, ripping solos, this song will have you raising your goblet to the rock deities by the end of minute 1.<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Album of Note</span>- Sister Rosetta Tharp's "Live in Paris." A gospel singing female rock-n-roll blues guitarist who played when TV was still in black and white. She's only about 5,000 years ahead of her time. Look her up on Youtube and you'll want to thank Al Gore for inventing the internet.Adam Braunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17009168290066495306noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13545768.post-36090879659063865802009-06-12T02:30:00.000-04:002009-06-12T02:31:08.855-04:00SE Asia Adventures- #6: Bali and the Himalayas of NepalBreakfasts, lunches and dinners,<br /><br />Greetings from Kathmandu, Nepal. Damn it’s crazy just to type that, life really is a trip... Before I dive into the update, I’d like to shamelessly plug the Pencils of Promise White Party event this Saturday June 13th at the Union Square Ballroom. If you or any friends in the NYC area are interested, please checkout the link to buy tickets at http://www.paperlesspost.com/events/6706-d75f5680/card. I’m heading back to Laos in the next few days for another month of PoP work on the ground, so unfortunately I won’t be there, but it will be a great night for sure.<br /><br />When I wrote last we’d arrived at the home of my good family friend Alan Solow, who is something of a cross between Billy Crystal, The Dude and Wilt Chamberlain- He’s hysterical, the absolute man and a walking, breathing incarnation of the kama sutra. After several weeks of magical but draining travel through Malaysia, Brunei and Indonesia, his huge smile and hosting panache were an incredibly welcomed respite from the road. We anticipated spending 2 nights with Alan before leaving the supposed tourist traps of Bali to head to the Gili Islands… but we never made it that far.<br /><br />Instead, we were immediately introduced to the local scene of ex-pats living in Bali, effectively bypassing the tourist experience, and fell in love with the people, places, friends and culture we discovered. Our “two days in Bali” melted like a Snickers in the Central Park sun and soon became 2 weeks, with more highlights than I can possibly mention in one email- Soul shine sunsets on the black sand beaches, epic all-night “galaxy” parties underneath a sky of cascading stars, having wild monkeys climb on our heads in the Ubud sanctuary forest, redefining the color green while getting lost for hours on a motorbike amongst the stunning rice terraces of Tampak Siring and Tagal Lalang, guitar and surf sessions on Pedang Pedang beach and an empty for miles Nyang Nyang beach, visiting ancient temples built into a natural setting that I can’t possibly describe at Gunung Kawi, and spending time with an amazing NGO called the East Bali Poverty Project that’s done work so revolutionary that I’ve laid up many nights contemplating how to possibly replicate the accomplishments of their founder, civil engineer, teacher and cigarette-smoker extraordinaire David Booth.<br /><br />For two weeks we lived in paradise, and then the storm struck. Without warning or cause, it attacked with a furious vengeance- The morning of my flight out of Bali to Bangkok I awoke at 6am with horrific fever symptoms. Cold sweats, teeth-rattling shakes, a blistering headache, muscle pains everywhere and the fire of a thousand splendid suns burning in my eyeballs. I knew right away that I needed to get to the hospital, but there was no time before my flight. I needed to get to BKK to fly to Kathmandu the next day where I was meeting my dad for a week of trekking in the Himalayan mountains of the Annapurna Sanctuary… major problem right? In a state of complete delirium I made it to Bangkok, but as I walked through immigration, the Swine Flu thermodetector went off… no joke. They had a thermodetector.<br /><br />I was immediately whisked to a medical station, given a Michael Jackson mouth covering, and my temperature was taken. 39.2 degrees Celsius. What the hell did that mean? It meant I was at 102.6 degrees Fahrenheit, and quickly raising suspicion in the eyes of my suddenly-not-so-friendly Asian hosts. I was then moved to a quarantine area, where for the next 2 hours they performed a myriad of tests and group discussions about how to solve their latest medical conundrum. Finally a resolution was agreed upon… they wanted to take me to the hospital for more influenza testing. As much as I could feel the burning lava pulsing through my veins, I also knew that I had a flight in 12 hours to meet my dad in Nepal and considering he was flying out from the states, I had to get there undisturbed… so I insisted I felt fine, and with a bit of luck was released into the Bangkok streets… where the fever got worse.<br /><br />The next morning I arrived in Kathmandu with my symptoms absolutely owning my body… we immediately flew to Pokhora, the jumpoff point to enter the Annapurna trek, and checked into our hotel. I wish I could say I was insanely heroic and brave and trekked the world’s greatest peaks with a Game 6 Jordan-esque fever… but this would be a lie.<br /><br />I ended up making it up through Nayapoor to Birathani and rested for a few days in the mountains at Tikidhunga as my dad put on a heroic performance in nursing me back to health while also making sure he trekked up to the heights of Ghorapani and Poonhill. The mountain villages we hiked by were filled with warm smiles and children shouting “Namaste” through the fresh mountain air. Elderly women tended to baby goats and young boys flirted with girls on rocky steps smoothed by the footsteps of travelers and locals alike… We then went up to Sarang Kot, where we spent a night looking down on the luminescent lights of Pokhora… sadly our sunrise wakeup was ruined by a thunderous storm with one lightening bolt that couldn’t have struck more than 100m from us, and a cloudy morning obstructing the mountain views… so around 10am we trekked down the mountainous steps, and in a moment of weakness the clouds gave way to allow a slight view at the peak of Annapurna II. We all gasped at the towering beauty, as it was so high above the horizon that I truly hadn’t realized to even look that high above the clouds for a mountain.<br /><br />We decided to sit down for tea at a lone table on a grass clearing just in case the clouds parted… and were treated to a show. Over the next few hours the clouds slowly gave way, shedding their white morning veils to reveal a mountain range unlike any other I’ve ever seen… several peaks over 21,000ft stood with menacing grace, like a pack of regal brothers you can’t help but admire and fear at the same time. That morning validated every moment of the Nepal experience, and contains many mental images that I hope to never lose to the thievery of time’s razors and sawdust.<br /><br />The following morning we took a 5-hour mountain biking tour through the bustling dust city of Kathmandu, riding through ancient city streets and quiet park vistas until my legs and lungs begged for mercy. Throughout the ride we heard the persistent horn honks mesh with distant calls to Hindu prayer stuppas; a true representation of this puzzling city where I currently find myself writing to you all… My dad left later that afternoon, and I have since been in the company of one of my favorite couples on Earth. Steve is a close Native American friend from the Lakota tribe with an enormous heart and smile, and his wife Anna is a beautiful mystic Buddhist, originally from Sweden but she’s lived all over the world speaking 11 languages and most recently spending 5 years on the banks of the Ganges River in Varanasi, India after living here in Kathmandu for 4 years. She’s done humanitarian social work in Afghanistan, Pakistan, Bosnia, India, Nepal, Serbia, and the list goes on and on… yes, I love everything about them, and yes we’re spending our days and nights in deep conversation, healthy laughs and shared experience.<br /><br />These past few weeks have been a real lesson in hospitality and what we do for those we love, as friends and as family. When Crosby and I needed a place to rest and recover, Alan lovingly opened his home to two traveling strangers simply because he is the brother of one of my dad’s best friends. He treated us like his own blood, because as he said, “You’re family, this is love.” When I became horrifically ill with the fever from Satan’s bulls on parade, my dad babied me like I was an 8 year-old again. He labored over me with a caring intensity unlike anything I’ve ever seen. He may not have realized it but this past week he taught me so much about what it means to be a real man, to express love through the power of your deeds and the merit of your actions. One day I hope I can repay both Alan and my dad for the gifts of their care and kindness when it was needed most… but until then, all I can do is pay it forward. So here’s my offer- 5 hours of open bar and all the wonderful, fun and great people you could ever want to meet in a single night, how’s that sound? Boom, now you’ve got your Saturday plans- http://www.paperlesspost.com/events/6706-d75f5680/card<br /><br />Walkin' down the many roads,<br />Adam<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Key Trip Statistics</span><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Days-</span> 87<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Song of Note-</span> "Off He Goes" by Pearl Jam. Everything that a male vocal ballad should be... strong, meaningful and serenely beautiful. This song has been in heavy, heavy rotation lately.<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Album of Note- </span>Warren Haynes "Live at Bonnaroo" Wow. This acoustic set by one of the best guitarists and vocalists in the game is phenomenal. Warren plays lead for The Allman Brothers, The Dead, and his own band Government Mule. Everything he touches is brilliant, and this solo set is no different.Adam Braunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17009168290066495306noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13545768.post-31279719476246584902009-06-12T02:10:00.001-04:002009-06-12T02:29:55.703-04:00SE Asia Adventures- #5: Malaysia, Brunei, Indonesia and PoPChocolates, vanillas and strawberries,<br /><br />Much love and many hugs from Semanyak, Indonesia. This email is long overdue, but I'm going to skip through many of the travel stories and just provide the who/what/when/where so I can get straight to the final insight that concludes most of these updates. The reason for this is because I assume most of you don't have the time to read all the way through these, and I'm hoping you'll take the time to make it to the end of this one, especially if you have any interest in the evolution of Pencils of Promise.<br /><br />I last wrote from Kuala Basu, Malaysia, the jumpoff point for the Perhentian Islands. It took 14 hours of exhausting overland travel and a shady late-night border crossing from Thailand to get there, but we made it around 2am as rains crushed us from above. The next morning we took a boat across the most beautiful water I've seen in my entire life, water that's so saturated with color that it makes the sky jealous, and arrived in Long Beach on the big island. No accomodations were available except tents by the beach, so we spent our first night in a tent. Traveling the backpackers way... The next day we took an amazing snorkling trip, swimming with sea turtles, sharks, and fish of all shapes and colors.<br /><br />After a few days of snorkeling we took an overnight bus to Kuala Lampur, arriving at 4am and walking the city streets until we could find a decent hostel to get some rest. Two days of touring the sprawling malls of the great Malaysian city (including a hysterical haircut experience at a styling academy in one mall), and then we hopped a flight to Brunei. Why the tiny nation of Brunei? Simple... because I don't know a single person that's ever been there, and recalled the middle school fact that the Sultan of Brunei used to be the richest man in the world. Brunei turned out to be one of the most fascinating places I've ever seen. They've become insanely oil rich in the last 50 years, as there's no income tax and everything is subsidized and completely peaceful. But there's a deep commimtment to simultaneously maintaning many of the elements of traditional life. They have the world's largest sea village, with 30,000 residents living in basic wooden huts on stilts that you might find in any impoverished region of SE Asia, but the entire place now has wireless internet and apparently on the mainland most families have 4-6 cars! Fire trucks, police cars and school buses for the sea village are all just fast boats of various colors. Just 10 minutes down the Brunei river is the Sultan's Palace that's over 2 million square feet, has ~1800 rooms, 18 elevators and more than 165 Bentleys. 10 minutes past that and we felt like we were in the Amazon, finding rare birds and packs of long-nosed Probiscus monkeys jumping from tree to tree. It's an amazing dichotomy of contrasts, and was well worth the two day diversion.<br /><br />Next we took an all day bus into Malaysian Borneo, passing many passport checkpoints on the lengthy ride before arriving in the coastal city of Kota Kinabalu. Several days of snorkling, amazing sunsets on the waterfront esplande, riding ATV's along the beach, a bit of hitchhiking around, city exploring, witnessing a Malaysian Idol-type singing contest outside our guesthouse on Mother's day, one wild night at an all-Asian danceclub with a sick live band, and then we hopped a flight to Jakarta, Indonesia.<br /><br />Jakarta is a bustling city of 8 million people, but all I cared about was that the Burger King there had the first barbecue sauce I've found in 2 months. It was delicious, and we actually found the city to be pretty cool in our 24 hours there. Next it was off the cultural city of Yogyakarta followed by a 9-hour sunrise tour of the spectacular ruins at Borabadur and then Prambanan. Absolutely amazing. We then hopped on an 8-hour overnight bus with no AC to Probilinggo, immediately grabbed a 4am minishuttle up to Mount Bromo, witnessed the sunrise from the exact lookout point where Baraka captures the mystic beauty of this place (google it... trust me), walked along the rim to look into the fuming volcano, and then immediately returned to the bus station where we traveled 11 hours by bus/ferry/bus/taxi to get to a family friend's house where we're now staying in Semanyak, Bali. The past few weeks have been a furious itinerary of travel, sightseeing, and stimuli for all senses. It's been exhausting and overwhelming and great.<br /><br />Key Trip Info<br />Days- 65<br />Song of Note- "Skyline" by Dan Teicher. A ballad of beautiful lyricism and soaring classical strings written by the most dangerous artist on the NYC music scene.<br />Album of Note- ESL Remixed by Thievery Corporation. So good it hurts. Throw it on during a sunny day andjust try not to smile while bobbing your head to the euphoric rhythms.<br /><br />Now onto the insight-<br /><br />We spent a lot of time underwater snorkling in the past few weeks, and it's so fascinating to realize just how much activity is going on below the surface of a calm sea. I was blown away by the diversity of wildlife, as there seemed to be a limitless supply of differing species swimming amongst myself and the others. While there's certainly an appeal to the brightest, the biggest, and the fastest, I kept on finding myself observing the large groups of similar fish that swam together... How did they know to all turn left simultaneously? Why didn't they ever bump into each other? How did they maintain perfect space between one another at all times? Even more interestingly, what impact were they having on the sea of activity and the bigger fish around them?<br /><br />Since Pencils of Promise was founded in October, I've been on thousands of emails regarding the organization and probably spoken with hundreds of different people about it. Listening to the advice of those with significant nonprofit and leadership experience has been invaluable, even if most of them consistently told me that PoP couldn't be successful without attracting large individual donors, which is something we have not done. Nevertheless, the organization is on the verge of its first major tipping point, as we're about to complete construction on our 1st school in Laos, launch an amazing website, begin a summer internship program, host an event with over 1,000 NYC youths, and surpass the $100,000 mark in donations received all within the next month. While snorkling one day I began recalling the many conversations about PoP with people of all ages over the past 8 months, and in paying closer attention to the fish underwater, I realized just how much they represented what we were accomplishing and why it's happened.<br /><br />A consistent weakness of youth is a lack of wisdom that says "Don't try that because it can't be done". We don't know yet that certain things are impossible, and in that idealism lies our ability to prove that they are not. They're possible when we join together. When many little fish move in a unified direction with shared purpose and intent, they create ripples of powerful change that even the big fish in the sea must heed and acknowledge. This is the essence of Pencils of Promise. Not one of us is independently capable of creating the impact we hope to enact in the developing world, but when we collectively combine the vast resources, knowledge, experience and passion amongst us as a whole, as individuals bonded by our commitment to basic education, the impossible becomes possible. And what do we call these many fish swimming as one? They're not called a pack, a herd or a flock... they're called a school.<br /><br />Walkin down the many roads,<br />AdamAdam Braunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17009168290066495306noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13545768.post-58503989790062016032009-05-04T05:56:00.000-04:002009-05-04T05:57:46.361-04:00SE Asia Adventures- #4: Two weeks in ThailandWindows, Aisles and Middles, <br /><br />Hot and sticky greetings from Kuala Basu, Malaysia. Since sending out my last email I met up with my buddy Crosby in Phuket, Thailand to begin 6 weeks of travel together. Our itinerary was very loose, and since we rarely book anything more than 24 hours in advance, we’ve changed our expected schedule daily. Each morning carries with it an unknown adventure, as we know something's happening but we don't know what it is.<br /><br />So how does one possibly describe two incredible weeks in the islands of southwestern Thailand? The answer is you don’t. You touch on a few highlights, but keep most of the memories in your backpocket to be shared around a campfire one day with close friends. Phuket is a highly developed resort city, studded with sprawling beaches, five-star resorts, friendly shops, and a pretty wild nightlife scene that I didn’t anticipate whatsoever. Before even arriving in Phuket I planned to head out as soon as possible, but we headed over to Patong our first morning, cruised for a few hours to a remote beach on rented motorbikes, and enjoyed one great night of clubbing. All I’ll say about that night is that I saw an “Eel Show.” I won’t provide any details, but I did sprint out the front door within 5 seconds of the show’s start. I’m not kidding, 5 seconds was all it took before I was literally running. For those who are wondering, I also turned off 2 Girls 1 Cup about 2 seconds into its main act… It’s a toss-up as to which is more gross. It’s like asking whether the heads or tails side is more valuable on a quarter. Except no one wins… least of all the cup and the eel.<br /><br />From there we headed to Koh Phi Phi, a place famed as one of the most beautiful islands in the entire world… due to this notoriety, a burgeoning backpacker town has developed with cobblestone walkways and a plethora of eateries and late-night options. During our days we played volleyball, snorkeled, visited Maya Beach where Leonardo DiCaprio’s “The Beach” was filmed, met other travelers and generally relaxed. At night, it was a different story. Each evening local fire twirlers did their thing as a throbbing beach rave swelled in the sands… Hundreds of young travelers from across the world drank buckets and danced with snake-eyed intent until 5am. Two of them were named Crosby and Adam. After three ridiculously fun nights of this, we crawled away from Koh Phi Phi for two tranquil nights on Koh Lanta and then at Krabi’s Ton Sai Beach. <br /><br />Our trip is currently taking place in the SE Asia “low season” for travel, so many places are hit or miss. Ton Sai Beach is a super-chilled out backpacker spot nestled between the towering limestone faces of a stunning horseshoe beach that seemed like an off-the-beaten path dream to me, but Crosby was looking for a bit more excitement so we headed through the darkness of a small mountain path with our full packs at 6pm on our second night to relocate to Railay Beach next door. This turned out to be a great move, because we absolutely fell in love with Railay.<br /><br />We originally anticipated 2-3 nights there… we ended up staying for seven. This was partially due to the fact that we found a cozy resort to stay at (queen sized beds, AC, pool, manicured landscaping, maid service, etc) for $12 each per night. Railay’s east side in the low season was also the perfect storm of nicely developed bars/restaurants with few enough people to create an extremely laid back and congenial vibe. Highlights from our seven days included a magnificent hike to an emerald green lagoon enveloped by 200ft limestone cliffs that left an eye-shaped sky above, monkey viewing, guitar lessons from a lovely Swede and sunset watching on Prenang Beach (one of Thailand’s Top 3 beaches), shady Muay Thai boxing matches at Bamboo Bar, befriending nearly everyone on the island, and going on a true adventure with a local friend. <br /><br />For seven straight nights we ended up at a bar called Chok D’s, where everyone lay on comfortable cushions listening to a brilliant Phillipino guitarist play covers of any classic song you could think of... the local crew of young Thai guys that ran the joint quickly became our boys, and after a few nights a real bond of kinship was formed. We became particularly close with one 20 year-old kid named Mon (as in, “What’s up Mon”), and on our fourth night I asked him if he could take us to visit his home in the remote village where he lived… He was pretty surprised at the request, but it’s these local experiences that are the core of why I travel. They’re always filled with surprises, newfound appreciation of other cultures, deep humility, and astounding beauty. They don’t come often, as I can probably count my exposure to such events on two hands in over two years of total travel abroad, but they’re the best of the best… and I just had a good feeling about this one. He agreed, saying “My home? I only go back every two months… but in three days, I go. You come? Yea!”<br /><br />Three days later we found ourselves on a slowboat heading towards Krabi Town with Mon grinning madly. We rented three motorbikes and jetted off for the island of “little Lanta”. Mon hadn’t been on a motorbike in 3 years, so he led the way at speeds reaching 110km along the narrow motorbike lane of the highway. It was pretty nuts, but a blast nonetheless. After 1.5 hours we arrived at his basic concrete home, where his mother and sister had prepared a full meal for us of omelettes, fish, boiled eggs, vegetables and rice that we ate sitting cross-legged on the ground. Surprisingly, it was delicious. From there we headed down to a small local jetty, where Mon’s father picked us up in his mini-slowboat and lazily rode off for “the cave.” <br /><br />As we pulled the wooden boat up to a small mangrove patch I knew we were in for something special, and I now truly believe that we’re some of the only Westerners to ever see this local gem. The crew scaled a bamboo ladder and with flashlights in hand entered a shockingly massive and deep cave, filled with stalagmite formations, baby cones, ancient engravings, a few bats and our hushed “oohs” and “ahhs.” After 45 minutes of exploration we returned to the boat, thanking Mon’s father profusely, and he took us on an hour-long island viewing boat tour before we jetted back to Krabi town. From there we hired a boat to return us to Railay as the sunset melted wax candles onto the sky over our shoulders, sea winds whipped our faces, Michael Franti’s baritone blasted into my ears, and as each wave bounced beneath us like nature’s heartbeat the creases of our smiles grew ever so slightly. We both agreed, it was our best day in Thailand for sure. <br /><br />Railay and Ton Sai also happen to be two of the Top 5 rockclimbing locations in Thailand, so they’re among the world’s best. I’d never rockclimbed before, but we had to go for it… and it was indescribably great. We spent an afternoon under the baking sun scaling several different routes of a 400ft rock face, challenging every strain of physical and mental juice that we had in our bodies. It was exhausting. It was insanely hard. More than anything, it was fucking awesome. There’s just something about ascending a wall formed thousands of years ago with nothing to help you but a harness, a rope, determination, blood and guts. It reminds you of your own mortality, vigor and pulsing lifeforce. There were many times when I was sure I couldn’t move my arms whatsoever, but I just had do yell at myself a bit to keep the spirits high. After several deep breaths the adrenaline would propel me upwards… And upon reaching the peak and turning around to see the tropical paradise below with aqua green waters shimmering for miles, the endorphin-release was unparalleled. I’m pretty sure I’ll be forcing my unborn kids onto professional-grade climbs before they reach the age of 10… just to toughen em up and whatnot. They can take it, they’re not even born yet. <br /><br />Departing Railay was extremely tough, but a necessary move to continue the trip. It took a ridiculous 16 hour trip by boat and several minishuttles to get us to Malaysia, but we’ve had a great few days here so far and are looking forward to the next stop… which we booked last night on a whim although it certainly wasn’t part of the original itinerary. But you’ll have to wait for the next update to see where the adventures have taken us… <br /><br />Our time in the cave really got me thinking about what we saw in there and how we responded to it. The formations we witnessed were at once beautiful, scary and awe-inspiring, much like many of the elements each person possesses deep within the recesses of their mental, emotional and spiritual beings. We now live in a world of hyperconnectivity, where we not only immediately share and post the images of our lives for thousands of others to see, but we’re moving towards a society where people are increasingly sharing their every thought, action and feeling via the internet multiple times a day to friends and strangers alike. When you take a picture it’s now usually with Facebook or Shutterfly in mind, as the lights of universal exposure become brighter and brighter with each passing moment. <br /><br />But what about the caves? As the power and scope of these lights expand, the internal caves seem to be diminishing day by day. The fact remains though, that certain things can only develop in the still silence of darkness. Our time in the cave was a stark reminder of this. Not everything needs to be put on immediate display for others to recognize and commend. Some items should be kept in the caves, enabling isolation to harvest their evolving beauty… and in the future, when each of us allows a few trusted and intrepid explorers into those caves, they too will shine their flashlights of illumination with deep appreciation and respect. The previously hidden elements will remain steadfast from the lengthy period of unfettered development, and each person who enters this cave will leave knowing they have experienced something special. It’s okay to keep a few pieces of yourself in the caves. These are the things that one day, if you keep them away from the eyes of the world long enough, just might turn into someone else's treasure. <br /><br />Walkin’ the many roads,<br />Adam<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Key Trip Info<br />Days-</span> 48<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Album of Choice-</span> “Live at Bats” by Fly My Pretties. A New Zealand super-group comes together for a wicked live set that grooves in all four directions at once. If you can’t get this live set, find anything by Fly My Pretties or their band members’ own groups. You’ll sleep happily once you do.<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Song of Choice-</span> “Your Protector” by Fleet Foxes. They’re the modern lovechild of Simon & Garfunkel and The Band. Mountain men who only care about two things- Making sweet, sweet harmonies and growing burly beards. Definitely check them out, explore their catalogue, and find your own favorites… this bellowing ballad sounds oh so right when you’re surrounded by sparkling turquoise waters headed on a speed boat towards the Perhentian Islands. Give it a listen.Adam Braunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17009168290066495306noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13545768.post-52212198159961690242009-04-17T04:54:00.001-04:002009-04-17T04:56:19.060-04:00SE Asia Adventures- #3: You Know the World's Gone Mad...…when Laotians wear plaid, and I’ve already broken my Canon. Yes, sadly my camera somehow died within 2 weeks, and yes that opening line was a clear and direct reference to the album you should all go out and buy when it comes out in 3 days, Asher Roth’s “Asleep in the Bread Aisle.”<br /><br />April is without a doubt my second favorite month of the year. It’s a time of creation and transition. Obviously a lot of people get busy on July 4th, which you can directly attribute to the masses of April birthdays including my sister, brother, niece, dad and a handful of other close friends. The New England weather I love so much slips its gargoyle skin into flower blossoms and breezy iguana necks this month. There’s music in the cafes at night and revolution in the air.<br /><br />April is a month of life, and it should feel like a damn good time to be alive.<br /><br />After writing last from Pakse I caught a bus heading due south for what are affectionately known as “The 4,000 Islands.” It’s a remote but pristine archipelago just north of the Cambodian border on the Lao Mekong River. Several of the islands have become traveler hotspots you hear about in the ever increasing whispers about their dramatic beauty and traditional simplicity. After a bus ride and a brief slowboat, I arrived in Don Det, where a German backpacker I met months ago had traveled 28 hours by bus to visit… and told me it was worth every second.<br /><br />Besides the decent amount of family-owned power generators, Don Det only has electricity for 3 hours per day. From the miniscule beachfront at the point, long rows of simple wooden bungalows line what are known as the “Sunrise” and “Sunset” sides… Nearly every bungalow is the same, with an awful bed inside, no bathroom, no light or fan, and a small deck with 1-2 hammocks looking out onto the water. There were far more bungalows than I expected, but very few were even close to capacity and it made for a very, very small town feel.<br /><br />I met my ragtag band of international neighbors right away, and we rented tubes for 50 cents to take a nice long float down the river. While in Muang Ngoi I’d befriended a Canadian guy who raved about this English girl he fell for there and really wanted to see again. As we floated down the river, sharing our traveling tales, it turned out that the girl I was talking with was this guy’s love! To connect the dots even further, our other neighbor was the one who persuaded the Canadian guy to spend time in Muang Ngoi in the first place and had traveled with him as well. We were all pretty overwhelmed with the tangential crossing of paths, and the girl was even more lovestruck with our Canadian buddy… Sometimes fate deals you a royal flush on the river, both figuratively and literally.<br /><br />The high spirits led into a tasty BeerLao watching the cotton candy sunset and a great chill session at what’s called “The Reggae Bar.” Absolutely nothing about this place is reggae, no rastas or Jamaican flags or otherwise, but they play damn good reggae music, and I dug it. They’re well known for staying open later than the other places, which means they keep the lights on until 10:45pm. The power went out just as the monsoon rains started, so all 30 people stayed sitting on their ground cushions, sharing libations while the rains thundered down around us in the dark and moondrenched laughs were exchanged across the tables.<br /><br />It was also during that hour that we found out one of our neighbors, a 40-something Californian nonstop talker, ran a softcore porn website of herself. The 20-something Mike Myers look alive who met her at the Vietnam border and told us about it said straight-faced, “I honestly wanted to check it out, but my Paypal is broken so I couldn’t register.” I loved this guy.<br /><br />Two days later I found myself invited by my new neighbor (a Frenchman named Joma who lives in the Ranier Islands, spends significant amounts of time in Madagascar, and has one of the wildest haircuts I’ve ever seen) to visit an extremely remote village. An incredibly sweet Lao woman who sold baskets at the Don Det waterfalls had befriended him and extended an invitation to visit her husband’s home village, where she claimed most had never seen a Westerner. We arose early and excited that morning, met up with a new American hippie friend, and rented bicycles to ride 30 minutes through dirt paths, wooden bridges and scattered rice fields to meet with our Lao host (“Mama Dam”). It turns out that she hadn’t visited the village in 40 years, since she was 15 years old, so the adventure began. After 4 hours of treacherous bike rides, two broken chains, river swimming, long hikes, and a seemingly endless walk through scorching rice fields, we arrived several islands over in their village. True to their word, most had never seen a Westerner. The time spent the in Ban Sai Hong and the trek itself were both incredibly, incredibly special… days like that one revitalize the desire to backpack. They reinvigorate the joy of connecting with others. And they remind you not to wear a jersey without suntan lotion unless you want some really stupid tanlines.<br /><br />The next seven days melted into one blissful afternoon of silent introspection. I’d love to say I partied nonstop or hiked a new mountain everyday, but I spent most of my time by myself primarily listening to and working through the flow of internal thoughts. I visited as many local schools as I could to gain information on the area’s basic education status, read 800 pages to complete the incredible book Shantaram, swam to an island and back nearly every day, wrote voraciously in my journal, and stayed away from external connectivity as much as possible. Removing all of the usual minutiae, stresses and external interactions from daily life really forces you to think big picture thoughts. I made a home out of my hammock, and my eyes fixed on the shifting horizon as it cycled through technicolor birth and death.<br /><br />When I did come out of my shell of private introspection occasionally at night, I was fortunate to meet some incredible people who equally fed off the energies of the island. One night’s dinner and late night chill session included a 30-something Valencia jungle warrior who’d lived amongst the refugees of Burma and Peru for months at a time, a 68-year old widowed mystical poet who spoke 10 languages and blessed us all with her scholarly wisdom (and gave me a lovely poem), a Barcelonan couple who I truly loved and hope to meet up with again, two Englishman both named Andy (one was self-referred to as “Candy” or “Gandy” because he was the gay Andy hahah) who lived in Don Det for several years, and two Russians who sang hysterical songs of the motherland proclaiming the strength of the Russian man… Oh, and my total room rent on the island was $23... altogether... for eight nights...<br /><br />April 14-18th is Lao New Year, which means the whole country stops to have a water fight. No joke. Everyone just drills each other with buckets, hoses, waterguns, and more. Absolutely no one is safe, and they take special delight in drilling falong (Westerners). It’s a blast, and my last night in Don Det I came across an all Lao birthday/New Year party. After idling outside for a bit, I was invited in and seated at a full table of Lao men ages 18-40. No one spoke any English… But they spoke the language of celebration. We shared self-made ricepaper spring rolls, drinks, Karaoke songs, weird hip-shaking dances and a serious amount of hysterics. The children went to bed early and the heat really turned up, as my favorite cultural tradition I’ve ever seen started-<br /><br />For some reason, it’s a Lao New Year tradition to rub baby powder on your face and the face of others late night… especially older wasted people that are passed out. I can’t even begin to describe how funny it was, but people were covered in baby powder, defenseless and clueless as to how ridiculous they looked. Everybody loved it.<br /><br />I thanked the gracious hosts and finally left the party around midnight to walk the few steps to the beach front where a 15-traveler bonfire was simmering, and was reunited with my Barcelonan friends. We shared a great late night jam session as a storm settled in the distance and the man in the sky flicked the bright lights on in off in the waterfront horizon. Silent lightening enveloped us from all directions every few seconds for several hours. It was the kind of natural display that lets you know there is Godliness even in science’s playground…<br /><br />Tomorrow my Laos visa expires and I’ll fly to Thailand to travel south for 6 weeks with my buddy Crosby. I’m pretty confident that most of my NYC fatigue has been washed out in the blue and green rivers of this country. The last month has been good, great, grand, wonderful. That is the word that captures it best. Full of wonder. Both in the internalized monologue asking constantly difficult questions that require scary but truthful answers, and in that feeling of amazement and intrigue that this culture offers to an outsider in each passing day, especially through the work of Pencils of Promise...<br /><br />There is a tremendous peace to these people and this land. The sun and mists rise slowly each morning and the soft clouds bow their heads in deferent acknowledgment of each day’s closing. Children dominate the landscape holding hands under soft pink faded umbrellas. Elderly women walk in packs, their woven purses complementing traditional skirts that speak of maternal kindness. These women always walk silently, never making a fuss or even addressing their peers. They simply walk together towards their shared destination, screaming dignity through the heavy bags under their eyes and the patience of their step. The family underlies everything here. They look after each other not because they are told, but because it is simply how they live. And permeating each collective act is the beautiful silence and confidence of necessary solitude. It’s witnessed in the men carrying wood logs on their backs from the fields and the women preparing banana stands at dawn.<br /><br />I’m incredibly thankful to have spent this month amongst the Laotian people. Sometimes it’s in the absence of the usual sound and speech that the deeper subconscious of a people or an individual can be heard. Having come from a world of constant sound and stimulation, being here has been a healthy reminder that each man and woman’s most powerful statement is not expressed through their way with words, but in their way of life.<br /><br />Be safe and stay classy,<br />Adam<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Key Trip Info</span><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Days</span>- 30<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />Album of Choice</span>- “Mastercuts – World Beats”. Global rhythms just sound good in beautiful places.<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Song of Choice</span>- Bob Dylan’s “Gates of Eden”. Get it acoustic, preferably 1965 BBC Concert… In my humble opinion it’s one of his five best lyrical masterpieces. The words all have jagged edges, and land with a thud at the base of your cerebellum. Like many of Dylan’s best yarns (Tangled Up in Blue, Desolation Row, Stuck Inside of Mobile, etc) it’s a children’s bedtime story for adults that have lost their key to clarity’s front door. You know something is happening but you don't know what it is... Listen to it twice in a row and just try not to have a few lines stuck in your head… I dare you… I double dare you... or you could take the Physical Challenge.<br />ReplyAdam Braunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17009168290066495306noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13545768.post-60753842692783912782009-04-13T08:31:00.000-04:002009-04-13T08:50:35.959-04:00SE Asia Adventures- #2: Hitting the RoadCowboys, Indians and Native Americans,<br /><br />Before I launch into the update, I want to first send a massive hug-shaped congrats to my brother Sam and his wonderful wife Bridget on the birth of their beautiful baby girl Lua. Simply amazing... Since last writing there’s been a lot, nearly all of it related to Pencils of Promise though so I’ll do my best to provide you with a comfy passenger seat on the ride that's now led me to Pakse in Southern Laos.<br /><br />In the days following the first update, each morning I rode my motorcycle black Madonna two-wheeled gypsy queen about an hour to Pha Teung heading for the Gates of Eden. The workers seemed to almost get a kick out of the assistance of a “falong” (the regular term for foreigner), but getting to know the kids personally was what drove me out there each day. By Week 2, when I’d arrive in the village most of the parents and kids would greet me with a large “Saibadee AB!” (they struggle with pronouncing “Adam” and nearly everyone has an easy nickname, so they like calling me by my initials, “AB”). I also discovered a hidden bamboo hut about 30m from a small riverfront beach on a secret dirt path 2km past the village, so some days I’d stop there to relax, eat, read, meditate, go for a swim, and generally enjoy the amazing sense of peace found when completely alone in a remote but beautiful, natural environment.<br /><br />There are many tales from Pha Teung that can be shared, but the one that had the most personal significance happened on my last day there. When I first visited in December and found several children doing work on a Sunday in a classroom by themselves, one girl absolutely froze my senses. She wasn’t the youngest, the cutest or the prettiest, but I later realized that it was simply how normal she seemed that made her stand out. Her clothes were plain but not dirty or ripped like the others, and she reminded me of any girl I might have sat next to in primary school growing up… only she was living in a starkly different setting. There was just something about her. She radiated the unspoken latent potential of her fingertips. Her paralyzing stare carried no sharp objects. This one girl’s expression alone made me want to build in Pha Teung… But since being out here she won’t engage me whatsoever. Other children laugh, shake hands, exchange names, play games, etc. I’ve tried over and over to speak with her, just to get a name, but she always shyly walks away without a word or even eye contact.<br /><br />On my last full day in Pha Teung I finished up by going for yet another long swim in the river with the kids. When I came out they walked with me back up to the village to rinse the mud off our feet. For some reason, that one girl curiously watched and stuck around. I asked the names of all the younger kids around her, and finally when I got to her, with creased corners of expressive delight she shouted “Thanh”. Yes. Finally. We talked a bit more in my broken Lao, and before leaving I reached into my bag to grab my favorite writing pen, and gave it to her. Her face was a blank slate as I handed it to her, simply staring into my eyes and accepting the gift devoid of emotion. As I walked out of the village though, I looked back to see a large crowd of kids surrounding her and examining the writing utensil. Moments later she skipped away, singing while admiring the pen she now held high in the air… It’s hard to put into any words, but that simple image validated and encompassed everything that I’d ever hoped Pencils of Promise would become… It felt like a circle had been completed, and that all of the time spent in the village was well worth every second.<br /><br />Sadly my motorbike finally died that day, so I was forced to hitchhike to get back to Luang Prabang after the high of that final experience. In many ways it almost seemed fitting, as I drained that bike of everything it had to give... The next morning was occupied by a two-hour ride south with TC and three Education Ministry officials through lush mountainous plateaus to visit a small village called KiewTaloum II that’s in need of a preschool, and will possibly be the location of the second PoP school. The morning after that, the real backpacking began. <br /><br />It started by meeting with a Lao engineer named Somlat who beamed a devilish smile and said, “Pleased to meet you, hope you guess my name”. He does all of the building for an organization called Community Learning International that wants to partner together, so the two of us hired a tuk-tuk and hit the road heading north… <br /><br />Along the 6-hour journey we stopped to visit the CLI library in Pak Ou, the PoP site at Pha Teung, the CLI dormitory at the district’s lone high school in Nam Bak, and an incredibly remote village called Pha Yong that’s in desperate need of a primary and preschool. The hour-long road to Pha Yong is made of dirt and rocks carving a snake-like ascent through a countryside of astounding beauty. Sprawling rice fields seem to sway in green unison to wind songs that only farmers hear. At times we had to get out to help push the tuk-tuk up steep hills, but the ride was definitely my favorite from all of my time in SE Asia thus far. The village itself was extremely poor, and most kids walked two-hour each way to get to the nearest primary school. Somlat and I used sticks to carve out a basic three-room school diagram in the dirt, which just may become a reality before year's end. It was inspiring and beautiful and badass... once again, everything that I hope PoP will become one day.<br /><br />We then arrived exhausted in the sleepy village of Nong Kiaw, and arose early the next morning to take a speed boat up the Nam Ou to a tiny village called Hoay Hoay. A monsoon-like rain exploded from the sky upon our arrival, and as we trekked through the mud to visit the Hoay Hoay primary school, the village children laughed hysterically beneath their bamboo huts, holding handfuls of rain tempting us to defy them… But I didn’t have to think twice, it was all right. <br /><br />A second night was also spent solo in Nong Kiaw, relishing a lightning storm of epic proportions, and the next morning I hopped on a slow boat headed upriver towards the idyllic village of Muang Ngoi… Ahhh Muang Ngoi. I love this place. I really, really love it. It’s a hidden paradise with a patchwork of $5 per night waterfront bamboo bungalows and the ghosts of ‘lectricity howl through the village bones for only three hours each day. Two afternoons were spent in a hammock there, watching the sun arch towards its resting place and absorbing as usual the words of the greatest writer to ever live, Robert Zimmerman of Duluth, Minnesota. It was also the first time I’ve had any consistent interaction with Westerners since arriving in Laos, so it was really nice to hear the tales of fellow backpackers. One guy was headed to the Tibetan plateaus after four months of learning to now speak semi-fluent Thai, two Canadian’s had just returned from three weeks of trekking in Nepal, and the couple next door was an Israeli guy and Guatemalan girl that met while spending eight months traveling India… this patchwork of jelly-faced personalities and a few others made for some great conversations and late-evening jam sessions.<br /><br />After an assortment of boat and tuk-tuk rides I returned for a night to Luang Prabang and will now be traveling Southern Laos for 11 days where internet is even more rare than heated showers. The final story I’d like to share occurred one afternoon in Pha Teung while playing with the kids during their lunch recess- <br /><br />They suddenly started shouting a word I didn’t recognize and pointing to the sky. I didn’t see it, but I heard a sound that I immediately recognized. As it got progressively louder, a child tugged on my shirt and guided my eyes towards the black object approaching from above. My entire body tightened. A large helicopter rapidly approached as my heart elevated in beats and decibels. The children jumped and waved all around, shouting laughter towards the sky. Many looked at me with approval-seeking giggles, ostensibly asking “Isn’t that amazing to you too!?” Of course they had never watched footage of the Vietnam War, seen the infamous picture of the Vietnamese girl after a napalm raid, played modern aerial videogames, or viewed the many Youtube clips taken from assault vehicles during battle. But that's what I pictured, those were my only "helicopter flying over Indochina" images...<br /><br />I looked back up, and when I looked down again one child was sternly shaking his head. After a second I realized he was impersonating the expression I must have been inadvertently making while watching the helicopter pass several hundred meters above. The entire event was a shocking and completely unexpected experience. I had to sit down after to absorb it all- that feeling of absolute vulnerability and helplessness, compounded in its effect when juxtaposed with the excited kids jumping all around… To them this was a marvel of magic and futuristic technology, but to me it potentially spelled the end and there was nothing any of us on the ground could do about it.<br /><br />One of the main reasons I travel is for these rare moments when something completely irregular and simultaneously unforgettable occurs that alters or solidifies your view on something. For the first time in my life, I felt the panic and indefensible fear that civilians in warzones must feel during an aerial attack. Fortunately, the one person I know in the armed forces is naturally equipped with the deepest morale character and courage out of anyone I’ve ever met, so I’m hopeful that our weapons of war are in the hands of other individuals with similar merits. But that afternoon made me wonder… How differently would we feel about acts of war and civilian destruction if they were rarely seen from the above or from miles away as we see usually them now? How much more reluctant would we be to engage in these acts if they were consistently shown from the civilian perspective on the ground? My beliefs were certainly pro-pacifism before, I just now wish I could have put the war hawks next to me that afternoon, standing in a schoolyard with waving and jumping children all around... begging for a helicopter’s attention…<br /><br />I hate to end on a somber note, I just felt the need to share that last story since it was such a powerful experience. To lift the mood before ending this sucker, my last night in Muang Ngoi everyone was sharing traveling tales from their trips. This one Austrian lifelong traveler then went on and on about these incredible mangrove monkeys. He talked for 10 minutes about their ability to make dives into muddy waters in search of fish and keep their eyes open the whole time... It was a hysterical story, and he talked with tremendous fervor about how great these monkeys are. He finally finished his diatribe, and another person jumped in. Before they got too far, I asked him "Oh by the way, where exactly did you see these monkeys? Maybe I can check it out on my trip..." His response was, "Oh... me? I saw them on television. Discovery Channel man!"<br /><br />Two minutes in heaven is much better than one minute in heaven,<br />Adam<br /><br /><strong>Key Trip Info</strong><br /><strong>Days</strong> – 21<br /><strong>Album of Choice</strong> – “Consoler of the Lonely” by The Raconteurs. One of the best pure rock albums in years. Book-ended by its two finest tracks (“Consoler of the Lonely” and “Carolina Drama”), also give “Top Yourself” a listen if you ever have post-breakup angst. This one enters the Dylan pantheon (“Positively 4th Street”, “Don’t Think Twice it’s Alright”, “Dirge, “Just Like a Woman”, etc.) of songs that absolutely destroys a former love. Wicked stuff but real raw.<br /><strong>Song of Choice</strong> – “Mr. Soul” by Neil Young. It’s a kaleidoscope of lyrical delight, best heard acoustic and without distractions.Adam Braunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17009168290066495306noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13545768.post-36068565626363185132009-03-27T01:32:00.002-04:002009-03-27T01:36:40.198-04:00SE Asia Adventures- #1: Breaking ground (Part II of II)…I was immediately hit with what every outsider, particularly a New Yorker who never sees this, realizes when spending time in Laos. It's one of the many reasons I fell in love with this place from the start- There are children absolutely EVERYWHERE. On bicycles, in mothers’ arms, playing in dirt schoolyards, scooping cups of muddy water onto tiny crabholes shrieking contagious giggles towards no one and everyone at the same time… And best of all, they all smile and wave. Without hesitation or fear, they flash chicklet teeth whether you choose to unveil yours or not. Without a doubt, I’d come to the right place.<br /><br />Upon arriving in the center of Luang Prabang, I decided to return to the Rattana Guesthouse where I’d stayed during my week-long visit here in November. The results of that visit were finding and selecting Pha Teung as the village for the first Pencils of Promise school, which was a huge deal in itself. I greatly overpaid by backpacker standards for my room ($13 per night… What? I’m serious, most can get a shared room here for $4-6 per night), but it was well worth it for the private space, an AC unit, hot showers most days, and most importantly the room came with the blackmagic karma that emanates from its creaky wooden floors… It actually reminds me a lot of Apt 23H at 1 Union Square South, mainly because my room is the exact dimensions of my roommate Alex’s closet (in my own defense, he has an awesomely huge closet).<br /><br />The next morning I was met by Thongchanh aka TC, the Lao coordinator for Give Children a Choice (the organization we’re partnering with in the construction of our first school). TC and I get along great from my last visit, and after catching up for a bit we hopped on his motorbike to head to the Luang Prabang Education Ministry. Sporting a healthy beard and wearing my backpacker best (a pair of old jeans, a purple woven belt from some random market in Guatemala, the one button-down in my bag and Nike sneakers), we entered the building where not a single person spoke more than a few words of English.<br /><br />The first meeting was with Mrs. Suchya (the Head of the LPB Preschool Education Program) and a girl who will be my point of email contact within the ministry. I’m attempting to create and have them implement a new but simple performance testing program to clearly demonstrate that Pencils of Promise not only builds schools but that kids are learning in them as well, so this girl’s ability to send test results is incredibly significant. The meeting went well in defining PoP’s role and solidifying our collaborative efforts with GCAC and the Education Ministry going forward. Next we shuffled into a large room and were joined by six other Lao officials, none of which spoke any English.<br /><br />Tea was served and a man stood up to read the full Memorandum of Understanding (the legal agreement of who’s responsible for what) regarding the Pha Teung Preschool. The MOU was then signed, after which Mrs. Suchya made a long speech of thanks about fourteen inches from my face (all in Lao, so TC translated every few sentences). I then made a reciprocal but very brief speech thanking them and letting them know that this was much more than a one person effort, that the school had been funded by more than 1500 donations from NYC-based youth, and they asked that I thank all of you as well. So THANK YOU. As I left the building I asked the one girl to email me immediately so we could stay in contact regarding test results. She informed me that they didn’t have any internet, so she’d have to go to an internet café. Keep in mind we were already at the Provincial Ministry of Education building… Welcome to Laos.<br /><br /> I knew that MOU was supposed to be signed on Friday March 20th for months, but until seeing it happen you just never know, so I was pretty ecstatic about the day’s events… The rest of the afternoon was spent practicing guitar in the chill outdoor rest area of the guesthouse, something I’m trying to learn on this trip but struggling heavily with so far. After playing for at least 2 hours straight my fingers were killing, and to my relief a small but kind 20-year old Lao kid named Ki walked up asked to play for a bit. “I thought you’d never say hello” I said, “you seem like the silent type.” Turns out he’s not silent, and he’s sick on guitar. Not Dan Teicher sick, or actually even close, but he plays the Lao and Thai styles really well.<br /><br />On Sunday afternoon I returned home from doing some email work to find him waiting at my guesthouse. Interesting. He asked me to get on his motorbike so he could take me to “a beautiful location for sunset.” All of my valuables (passport, money, camera, journal) are in one bag that I take with me everywhere. “Should I get on this local but complete stranger’s motorbike with that bag and let him take me wherever?” I thought. The answer was clear. Hell yes, I’m at least twice his size and he can’t even grow a mustache. And what a shady but wise decision it turned out to be… he took me to meet his two sisters who were also miniature-sized people, and they led the way through a winding dirt walkway to a sprawling, beautiful beach along the Mekong River dotted with about 100 Lao locals. I wondered how many Westerners had ever even seen this place… While people playing soccer, volleyball and generally acted as though life was perfect, we hired a canoe-style fishing boat for $4 to take us on the river for about an hour as Ki sang guitar songs and the sun lowered its blazing tangerine self beneath the distant mountains. After this we shared a noodle dinner in his sisters’ one room home, which was also strangely the size of Alex’s closet, and Ki gave me a lift back home. It was a magical experience, to see the true Lao culture with no pretense or tourist slant… a night I won’t soon forget.<br /><br /> As usual I couldn’t sleep because I was so excited for the next morning’s ground-breaking, so at 5:30am I went outside to attend the famous alms-giving ceremony of Luang Prabang where saffron-robed monks silently walk the streets at dawn accepting gifts from patrons. After this I was met by TC and two Education Ministry officials (one who I’ve met several times and wears an “NYC –New York City” hat that when I gave him the thumbs up about, he said “Yes very good quality company”. I honestly think it’s possible that he believes NYC is a clothing company, not an actual city) and we drove the hour plus to Pha Teung. It’s a small village of ~650 people where most are farmers and the average family income is $400 per year. I fell in love with it back in November when visiting on a no-school Sunday and seeing several children practicing their writing on a chalkboard in a thatched bamboo makeshift classroom. We arrived to see the site for the preschool had already been completely cleared by locals, and about 100 children were attending classes in the primary school. They soon came running out to stare at the men at work, and we performed the leveling for the site and hammered some wooden boards in place to define the school’s outline. It was awesome beyond words to see a once far-fetched idea finally becoming a reality.<br /><br />Following this I played with the kids for a while before being invited to share some Lao Lao (local rice whiskey they love here) and Lao beer (there’s only one beer in the entire country, fortunately for all it’s absolutely delicious) with the village leaders, ministry officials and the schoolteachers. We had a ceremonious lunch where they made their best effort to get me wasted… and were relatively successful. The excitement around the school’s construction was palpable throughout the village, and it was incredibly gratifying to see that while the entire PoP crew had been working so hard over the past few months in NYC, these people were putting in plenty of physical work to prepare the site over here too.<br /><br />Due to the difficulty of remembering Lao names, I decided early on nickname each of the village teachers/leaders that I frequently interact with after an American celebrity who would play them in a Lifetime made-for-TV movie. Most days I now have lunch with Kurt Cobain (he only wears plaid flannel-like shirts), Steve Buscemi (he’s super creepy but awesome), Christopher Walken (he’s real old but oh so smooth), Mr. Ed (his teeth are just ridiculous), Sam Cassel (his alien head is crazy) and Mr. Miyagi (he’s the wise old principal who commands respect… sometimes I call him Billygoat though, cause he has less than 10 facial hairs and one is at least five inches long). They usually try to get me drunk so we can better understand each other, but I’m pretty sure I’ve already won their respect through my beard and leg hair since none of them have the ability to grow either.<br /><br />TC has now loaned me his old motorbike and I ride for a little more than an hour solo through the winding countryside out to the village early each morning. My day alternates between hours of playing games while being amazed by how adorable the kids are in the schoolyard, digging trenches with the local workers, swimming in the river with a ragtag crew of 5-9 year olds, being taught to fish by village leaders, and brief conversational exchanges with Walken, Miyagi and sometimes Mr. Ed. I can’t describe it as anything other than purely awesome. The souls of my feet are painfully cut up from playing duck-duck-goose barefoot, but the internalized soul feels rejuvenated and healthy.<br /><br />That is the full update. I know it’s been long, but as Willie said to Toots, “It’s hard to explain how I feel, it won’t go in words but I know that it’s real.” The one final story I’d like to share happened on Monday morning before the ground-breaking. In attending the alms-giving ceremony, I hoped to witness and participate in a sacred tradition. While it was certainly very special, there were a handful of people aggressively snapping pictures right next to the monks that were not only disrespectful, but seemed to reduce the ritual itself into somewhat of a tourist spectacle. After I’d finished handing out rice to the monks and all had passed, I sat on some nearby steps to write in my journal for a bit. Most people dispersed, returning to their guesthouses. After about ten minutes I looked to my right to see an extremely old Lao woman still sitting on a low plastic chair, looking ahead in silence. She simply didn’t move. I kept writing. Several minutes later, the monks walked passed us in the opposite direction, returning to the temple where they reside. The old woman gave each of them, young and old, a handful of rice from her box with persistent diligence. Each was rewarded.<br /><br />After they passed, she closed her rice box and continued to look straight ahead in expressionless silence for several moments. She then pressed her palms together so hard that her hands began to tremble. She bowed her head, placed her hands gently against her forehead, and paused for several seconds of devout prayer. She seemed not to be thanking an individual person or deity, but more the ceremony itself. This was devotion. This was fulfillment. By the looks of it I’m guessing she’d done this every morning at sunrise throughout her entire life, each day repeating the sacred ritual. The beauty of the act gave me chills, and made me realize the significance of simply having something in one’s life to care about with that much passion. For those that aren’t aware it was during my first visit to the NY Philharmonic in September, while watching a piano virtuoso furiously crushing the keys to a Rachmaninov piece, that I kept thinking “I just want something in my life to feel as passionately about as that man does towards the piano” when the idea for PoP was created… Watching that woman put her trembling hands to her forehead allowed me to see that the size of the task is secondary to the primary significance of simply having something that makes one feel alive with a sense of purpose and meaning. It was a powerful reminder to always keep the eyes open, because sometimes you find the inspiration in the great concert halls of the world, and other times you can simply pass it on the street.<br /><br />Much love and many hugs,<br /><br />AdamAdam Braunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17009168290066495306noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13545768.post-35516465218065292442009-03-24T23:45:00.002-04:002009-03-24T23:48:37.323-04:00SE Asia Adventures- #1: Breaking ground (Part I of II)Thieves, bandits and innocents,<br /> <br />I’m writing to you now from Luang Prabang in Northern Laos, a charming town of 26,000 that will serve as my home base while in Laos. This is the first travel email I’ve written in almost 2 years, so I’ll do my best to Shake off the Dust and Arise. Be aware that these will be laced with obscure musical references (e.g. capitalized phrase above), overly detailed stories, and are essentially the anti-Twitter. They represent how I see the experiences on the road in full, which means that in a world of morsel-sized information, I’ll be serving up 5-course meals. They’re not written with Blackberry-screens in mind, so I’d suggest you print them up for a read on your morning commute… But enough qualifications, let’s dig into the guts and bones of this Freewheelin’ yarn.<br /><br />As many of you may have seen, I’ve never worked harder in my entire life than the past six months in order to get everything in a position so that I could comfortably leave the normal life behind. This trip is about advancing Pencils of Promise on the ground in Laos and additionally getting back to my soul by backpacking SE Asia for an extended period of time. Fortunately the hard work paid off and everything was in line, but I found myself still awake at 4:30am on Tuesday morning handling final responsibilities without having a packed bag for my 8am flight. So in that sleep-deprived state of delirium when the world seems to have fallen through its own back pocket and you understand how Dr. Frankenstein created his monster, I packed four months of gear into the trusty backpack that’s now rested on my shoulders through 40+ countries over the past few years.<br /><br />At the Cathay Pacific check-in counter at JFK, I was told I didn’t have a seat on my flight. Too tired to be annoyed, I just stood and waited. It turns out that my booking was listed under Braun Adam, not Adam Braun. Thanks Vayama.com. As described in my previous email, the flight itself was apparently an insulated baby convention with monk-chanting fathers. The flight was also 95% Asian, which made it even funnier when the massive Soviet guy (yes it still exists… as long as Rocky IV can be purchased the Soviet Union is alive and a serious threat to the American way of life) who was sitting directly behind me in his Muscle Beach tank top at one point said aloud “You cannot be facking seereeuus!”<br /><br />After a brief layover in Hong Kong I arrived in the Grand Central Station of SE Asia, Bangkok Airport. As most travelers will attest, Bangkok is the hub to access the gems of the region but it can offer a few ephemeral delights itself… most of which can be found in the backpacker equivalent of Times Square, Koh San Road. If you want a tailored suit, the world’s best knockoffs, cheap accommodations, Thai cover bands in Irish pubs, ping pong shows or a ZJ (if you don’t know what that is you’re not ready for it), that’s the place to go. Having been through Bangkok probably 5-10 times in the travels thus far, I quickly made my way to Koh San on a local bus (it’s the only part of Bangkok I’m familiar with) but was way too tired to do anything but find a decent bed, take a warm shower and eat some delicious pad thai. Sorry but no Bangkok adventures to tell of, my focus was on getting to Laos and that’s where it stayed.<br /> <br />The next morning I hopped the bus back to the airport and flew into Luang Prabang Airport in a small airplane painted with ridiculous boats and clown fish. Upon touching down at the airport I gave the new U2 album its first listen. The opening lick to the cover track “No Line on the Horizon” seemed to perfectly fit the mood of the country I was entering. That fine separation between the tangible and the unknown is shaded in grey here; some days it seems as though the sun isn't sure whether it's supposed to rise or set. The next tune, “Magnificent”, forced a “hell yes” smile across my face as I stepped onto the terrestrial goodness of the land I’d been craving to return to since my first visit in November. As I applied for my entry visa and they reviewed my passport, the third track, ironically titled “Moment of Surrender” began… touché Bono. Then I exchanged money and hit the jackpot. I changed $200, and immediately became a millionaire. Literally. In my pocket was $1.7M Lao kip, I was fucking loaded. I hopped a tuk-tuk towards town and “Breathe” exploded into my eardrums as wind whipped my face and blood and electricity and a hard rain surged through my veins. It was go time.Adam Braunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17009168290066495306noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13545768.post-2191665797710061022007-06-19T11:28:00.000-04:002007-06-19T12:54:21.758-04:00CCF DonationsBe part of something great, donate to the Cambodian Children's Fund today :-)<br><br /><br /><a href="http://www.cambodianchildrensfund.org/donate.html"><img src=http://www.freeimagehosting.net/uploads/d8b373011c.gif border=0 alt="Free Image Hosting"></a><br><br>Adam Braunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17009168290066495306noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13545768.post-82831529955338244412007-05-21T16:46:00.000-04:002007-05-22T02:27:49.291-04:00FINAL South American Adventures- Part 12: Ecuador, Colombia & El Salvador<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCAO0T4PmdB2T2EOd0R8Nrc4QISlsp51Hf9Unw1EViSeSC5gD_jiMJFiS-Pm4Roh7uJxcgEqTOHhbaHMqT1cu0j_Hog_xr3mnhyphenhyphenkS1_-W8GnEH7Rh9xond9_KuCr_oW6g6gIhC/s1600-h/AB-+Quilotoa+Sunset.bmp"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCAO0T4PmdB2T2EOd0R8Nrc4QISlsp51Hf9Unw1EViSeSC5gD_jiMJFiS-Pm4Roh7uJxcgEqTOHhbaHMqT1cu0j_Hog_xr3mnhyphenhyphenkS1_-W8GnEH7Rh9xond9_KuCr_oW6g6gIhC/s400/AB-+Quilotoa+Sunset.bmp" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5067120213000095650" /></a><br />Hola muchachos de Suchitoto, El Salvador!<br /><br />Upon arriving in Quito, Ecuador on April 25th, I immediately felt a connection with the Lego-looking capital city of this wonderfully strange country where they absolutely love volleyball, 80's rock ballads, gold trophies and Jean Claude Van Damn movies. Just visit once and you'll concur. Ecuador was my 50th country I've traveled through in my life, so of course this was cause for celebration. Fortunately I was joined for the past 3.5 weeks by my former Semester at Sea roommate, the legendary Jaret Martin, so celebrating in style was not a problem at all. Traveling with Jaret is like backpacking alongside a funhouse mirror- You know there will be incessant self-reflection, but there's a healthy dose of unexpected comedy and strange twistedness. During lunch on my first day in Quito, I spoke the words that will forever haunt me... I said to Jaret, "My journal from this trip is by far the most valuable thing I have with me. I'd rather lose my camera than lose this journal..." Two hours later I noticed that my camera had been stolen from my daypack, as the fates delivered a swift kick to the jimmies. <br /><br />We jammed extra hard in Quito that night, consuming 6 schwarma sandwiches, 8 Ted Brogans, two rounds of apple-flavored hooka and a bottle of wine for a grand total of $14.50. Gotta love South America... Apparently we were sharing a few too many good laughs, as two kind Ecuadorian sisters approached us soonafter and asked if we were boyfriends. Thanks ladies, another kick to the goods. We did end up having one of those unforgettable travel nights, and booked it early the next morning to the mountain town of Banos. A visit to the Amazon jungle, 30k bike rides, thermal hot springs excursions, a terrifying cable car ride across a 500m gorge, latenight Mirador parties, chess battles, delicious food and my worst single day of illness awaited us in this great pueblo. In the interest of brevity, I will simply say that Banos is one of my top five favorite towns in the world. Go there. Now. <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij2VIL1eWZGtfn-hnDku0eod47L7Kl2o9OGMnSXkyD22s_P4_bgYpKBr1oKtD_DNclMj30ozKqATix-ewv12qXVyvyL_r04Ii8N8Jxs-sBYU2vSZs5a4XuWiVm9sh_bKHYuI-k/s1600-h/AB-+Waterfall+leaves.bmp"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij2VIL1eWZGtfn-hnDku0eod47L7Kl2o9OGMnSXkyD22s_P4_bgYpKBr1oKtD_DNclMj30ozKqATix-ewv12qXVyvyL_r04Ii8N8Jxs-sBYU2vSZs5a4XuWiVm9sh_bKHYuI-k/s400/AB-+Waterfall+leaves.bmp" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5067120621021988786" /></a><br />While in Banos we decided that we both had a strong craving for some rigorous physical exercise. The only workout I'd had since leaving Guatemala 2.5 months earlier was the daily 12oz lifting of local beverages to my parched lips. We set our sights on Volcan Cotopaxi, an active volcano where you can look into the crater from the rim and the 2nd highest mountain in all of Ecaudor at almost 20,000 (5900m) above sea level. That's higher than any mountain in all of Africa or the continental USA, which is probably why only 15% of attempting climbers had reached the summit the previous week. This was going to be one hell of a difficult rim job. We began the trek up the absurdly steep mountain at midnight aided by tremendous moonlight, the sturdy rope tying us two to our guide, razor-sharp shoe crampones and our diesel ice axes. Seven exhausting hours later, after all others had turned back, we arrived at the "cumbre" where both Jaret and I literally collapsed into sleep in a small snow hole. The walk down was equally treacherous, but we finally made it back around 11am from what I can genuinely admit was the most physically and mentally draining challenge of my life. My respect for mountain climbers is somewhere between how I feel about President David Palmer and the brave souls who catch spiders for a living. Damn those terrifying eight-legged freaks. <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy0o4-vu8BhME4luZShNvDJ3DzAY4AaBTlas1IZrErXz3A-2UPt3m7TUQ_pGhbUbwj12C6kob_1c1LddJN6q2A7koeyHxNaflWPTdjIJjyYSw71pFIl8q403Qk9Gd_nnBGA8f3/s1600-h/AB-+Cotopaxi+Exhaustion.bmp"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy0o4-vu8BhME4luZShNvDJ3DzAY4AaBTlas1IZrErXz3A-2UPt3m7TUQ_pGhbUbwj12C6kob_1c1LddJN6q2A7koeyHxNaflWPTdjIJjyYSw71pFIl8q403Qk9Gd_nnBGA8f3/s400/AB-+Cotopaxi+Exhaustion.bmp" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5067120870130091970" /></a><br /><br />The rest of our time was spent viewing the gorgeous Ecuadorian landscapes in places like Latacunga, Alausi, el Nariz del Diablo, Zumbahoa, Laguna Quilotoa (incredible), and the northern market town of Otavalo. While in Riobamba we found a $2 per night hostel, which of course seemed to good to be true. By 3am, we found out that it was. Earlier in the night I offered a drink to the lone hostel worker from the full bottle of Pisco I'd been carrying since Peru. I took note of how much he seemed to enjoy the drink, but what I stupidly overlooked was the fact that he was wearing a cutoff t-shirt and black fingerless gloves. Yes, fingerless gloves. Over the next two hours he drained half the bottle, stole the other half when I told him he couldn't have it because we were going to sleep, attempted to fight both Jaret and I separately while breathing idiot winds every time he moved his teeth, and then finally locked himself outside the hostel for two hours. Again, one of those crazy traveling nights that I will never ever forget nor repeat. <br /><br />After several weeks in Ecuador we experienced your typical shady latenight border crossing into the land of drug cartels, guerrilla warfare, kidnappings, Cuartas and beautiful women- Colombia. We bounced through Ipialis, pleasant Popoyan, crazy Cali and Pasto during our week in the country. I watched a 45 year-old salsa king tear up the dancefloor with his 23 year-old wife of 7 years, frequented the casinos on various occasions, and as always Jaret entertained with actions that shall only be revealed in person. Typical quotes included, "How do you feel about your personal development?", "Do you believe prayer can change the outcome of events?", and "Oh I forgot to tell you, I had my first wet dream in years last night!" We then popped back down to Quito for two final epic days together before I flew to El Salvador where I'm traveling for four days before returning home on Wednesday. Those final Quito days consisted of perusing the Old Town, splitting the Mitad Del Mundo, Gringolandia partying and of course Jaret fulfilling his lost bet obligation to wear just sandals, boxers and my Cuzco skimask for 15 minutes on the city streets.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha3G_HnRZoszfosPA-aBJJIAggZ3LT_KkFNA9UMRw6gFH2pWx-gGAd4XgE8vnKdWZsdHKLbQ3X10oQgmW9cUSIfPQHaTeE3vRLUJbQPPCTiZS295iEyGp720Aqw3KHv1isK3k5/s1600-h/AB-+Jaret+Facemask.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha3G_HnRZoszfosPA-aBJJIAggZ3LT_KkFNA9UMRw6gFH2pWx-gGAd4XgE8vnKdWZsdHKLbQ3X10oQgmW9cUSIfPQHaTeE3vRLUJbQPPCTiZS295iEyGp720Aqw3KHv1isK3k5/s400/AB-+Jaret+Facemask.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5067267663522334706" /></a> <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIZAWXyHtvkP_0n5-G1YKuAW9aFEqgmnh5aLMCxSbU-m5ccjoS2rIja9IuoX9TpNVQdkSpKIyvOP-jhPMHuK5giT6tmmjsOPPI1BR0TkVGDIbSZGEytV80jNTeadYQF0CW2sHx/s1600-h/AB-+Splitting+the+Worlds+Hemispheres.bmp"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIZAWXyHtvkP_0n5-G1YKuAW9aFEqgmnh5aLMCxSbU-m5ccjoS2rIja9IuoX9TpNVQdkSpKIyvOP-jhPMHuK5giT6tmmjsOPPI1BR0TkVGDIbSZGEytV80jNTeadYQF0CW2sHx/s400/AB-+Splitting+the+Worlds+Hemispheres.bmp" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5067121059108653010" /></a><br /><br />I return home to the good ol' US of A in about 24 hours, so this will sadly be the final update from the road. The question I keep getting asked is, "Are you ready to go back to reality?" I started to think about that notion the other day, about the concept of home and the working world. I think that people have it backwards. While traveling is a removal from what's deemed to be "reality", in many ways it actually illuminates the inner-realities of the human condition. On the road and in hostels there's no performance reviews, no paid overtime, no long weekends. There's no defined schedule, no desired promotion, and most importantly, no bosses. I do exactly what my heart and mind tells me is most desirable at any given moment, with no skew of responsibility towards any elements of usual confinement. We are all equals when we throw on a backpack, sleep in 12-person dormitories and wait an extra day to shower because the water will be hot in the next town. Class, color and creed are only meaningful when you allow them to be, and on the road we feel an immediate connection to other backpackers regardless of such attributes. Removal from one's cultural comforts forces an openness and willingness to explore both internally and externally that cannot be induced to such extremes through any other method. Each day of traveling, I inherit new knowledge and expunge myself of subconscious stereotypes and misinformed assumptions. The more I know, the more I know just how much I don't know. For the past four months I've been able to act solely on personal intuition, and what is more real than that? While I'm extremely excited to return home to see you friends and loved ones, there's a bittersweet sadness to leaving the purest form of reality that I will ever know. <br /><br />Lastly, I wrote a little ditty at the Puerta del Diablo yesterday about the people I've encountered on this trip... It's probably the best summary and conclusion I can give to these writings-<br /><br /><strong>EMPANANDA STEW</strong><br />Lumberjacks, quacks and exogenous ex-pats<br />Hippie chicks wearing sacks spitting facts through braless racks <br />The whispered prayers of blackmagic soothsayers<br />Pueblo mayors holding impenetrable pocket pairs<br />Venemous almond scorpion stares<br />Alpaca stealers, bamboo peelers, lesbian acid dealers<br />Chicken bus cop-a-feelers <br />Librarians, agrarians, political contrarians<br />Astral travelers, cocaine dabblers, yarn unravelers<br />Undereducated youth, reluctant bearers of truth<br />Homeless men grinning vigor through a single golden-tooth<br />Irish fortune-tellers, Polish jungle-dwellers <br />Witch market candy sellers<br />Scuba instructors, cock-fight conductors<br />Teachers and lawyers, perverts and voyeurs<br />Masked shoe shiners, Ecuadorian ice climbers<br />Father and son complejo miners<br />Army commanders, former Pinochet bystanders <br />Argentinian cantors, Israeli salsa dancers<br />Scandinavian jugglers, Cuban-cigar smugglers<br />American Buddhists, Guatemalan nudists<br />Local news reporters, cooks for short-orders<br />Customs-paper sorters, hemp-necklace hoarders<br />Illegal profiteers falsely guarding sovereign borders <br />Priests, beasts, those betrothed to the deceased <br />Casino looters, English tutors<br />Massively fake Colombian hooters<br />Japanese tourists, Uruguayan florists<br />Dancing naked flags of Bolivian futbol purists<br />Gently echoed sighs of Chilean rabbis <br />Empty-palmed Mayans blinking dignity through cancelled eyes <br />All while sun and moon tango to control fickle skies<br />They said don't go there, to the foreign place you're bound<br />They said you'll get lost, but look what I've found <br />And each tells a story, of elation and strife <br />Each now interwoven<br />In this tapestry called Life.<br /><br />Challenge the Assumptions,<br />AB<br /><br /><br /><strong>Final Trip Statistics</strong><br />Trip Mantra- "Tourists See, Travelers Seek."<br />Occupation Given at Final Hostel- Unicorn Hunter<br />Days- 110<br />Hot Showers- 29<br />Total Intercity Bus Rides- 63<br />Hours spent on intercity buses- 246<br />Oreos Consumed- Over 300<br />Facial Shaves- 2<br />Sticks of Deodorant Used- 1<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixnvnp_hBuyIERYK42R0Kh5IK-yTBYGLTt9doeEVdXKr4m2U5Xu_yoGk1qJ4GjVFqcmDBSBln2Hw7yAKI37rzCql7ut_vPwb_2TQbXdIMQQR-lCe7AEuoqlLBPq6CNfQpIcP12/s1600-h/AB-+Sheep+kick.bmp"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixnvnp_hBuyIERYK42R0Kh5IK-yTBYGLTt9doeEVdXKr4m2U5Xu_yoGk1qJ4GjVFqcmDBSBln2Hw7yAKI37rzCql7ut_vPwb_2TQbXdIMQQR-lCe7AEuoqlLBPq6CNfQpIcP12/s400/AB-+Sheep+kick.bmp" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5067121832202766306" /></a>Adam Braunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17009168290066495306noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13545768.post-13287873799320257532007-05-06T20:03:00.000-04:002007-05-06T20:27:13.252-04:00South American Adventures- Part 11: Buenos Aires & Uruguay<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRq0_aVyOZ6yc1fz48ImqDlmhxCC_NBUXP1TGSVZImj2f7zoMOqHSKmDr1P5se5bBV7q5q5Ra95GoF42DyrAWMspIIwzL97cpTxOut61Hgg6JFnHxZ23VSVMfxeMJkhqbnd57G/s1600-h/AB-+BA+Nights+2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRq0_aVyOZ6yc1fz48ImqDlmhxCC_NBUXP1TGSVZImj2f7zoMOqHSKmDr1P5se5bBV7q5q5Ra95GoF42DyrAWMspIIwzL97cpTxOut61Hgg6JFnHxZ23VSVMfxeMJkhqbnd57G/s400/AB-+BA+Nights+2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5061603311071669314" /></a><br />Hola amigos de Latacunga, Ecuador!<br /><br />In my last email I referenced the need to describe my time in Buenos Aires with my brother. Let me just preface all descriptions by saying that in 12 nights in BA, I did not go to sleep once before 6am. They say NYC is "the city that never sleeps", I say BA is "the city that never sleeps nor runs out of delicious steaks". I got the best piece of ass all trip in that city, and it was sadly from a cow. Interpret that as you wish... <br /><br />We arrived from Rosario on April 11 and shacked up in our hostel on Corrientes Avenue, the city's analogue to Broadway. We first decided to get a big beef dinner and went to the best restaurant in the area (Estancia), which happened to have a tango show going on upstairs for an extra 10%. We were in. Expecting some light dancing, we received far, far more. A 70 year-old showman, whom we dubbed "Johnny Crazylegs the Dancing Machine" led a group of young tango dancers through several routines while also speaking at least 8 languages, beating drums, telling jokes, milking the crowd, rodeo-style tap dancing and crooning ad nauseam. Just when we thought the show couldn't get any better, we saw a large woman entering through the hall playing a giant drum. My first thought was, "Holy shit, some hobo broke in from the streets." Oh no, this was the hired act; an Argentinian Mama Cass who smiled broadly to everyone and no one in particular. She sang and sweated her sagging breasts off, while diner participation hit an all-time high with spoon table-tapping and matador napkin waiving. Pretty much everyone in attendance was fully convinced that she'd consumed an absurd amount of crack before hitting the stage, and she did absolutely nothing to dispel such a rumor. A hell of a start to Buenos Aires... <br /> <br />Over the next 12 days we explored the various neighborhoods of the city- The lush gardens of Palermo, the brilliantly painted homes of La Boca, the stunning cemetery of Ricoleta where Evita is buried, and of course the wild nightlife of a city that awakens at 2am. A friend of Scott's hooked us up with some of BA's finest partyers, led by our boy Fernando aka Chiche aka La Pirata. We never fully found out why he was called The Pirate, but I'm pretty sure it's because he's an expert at swindling booty. We spent late nights exploring the great clubs like Pacha, Opera Bay, Museum, Asia de Cuba, and others. Many dances, smiles and laughs were had by all. <br /> <br />Perhaps the strangest night I've had on this trip occured when we headed 30 minutes outside the city to the "best Sunday night club around". Immediately upon arrival we realized we were among the trash of Buenos Aires, but the club interior was nice and the throbbing house rhythms were infectious. After 45 minutes of music though, the hanging TV screen was raised and the music faded... Everyone moved to the outskirts of the dancefloor, taking seats to observe the stage as if they knew exactly what was coming... Suddenly, a busty blond sauntered onstage in high heels and lingerie. "Take My Breath Away" from Top Gun pierced the stank club air, and my first thought was "She's not going to...." Oh yes, she was. After a few pathetic gyrations, she removed her top to reveal silicon-enhanced breasticles. Interesting. Suddenly, a large pony-tailed man walked onstage behind her, wearing an oversized black leather trenchcoat. Ummm, okay. <br /> <br />She walked towards the beast and removed the dead cow from his shoulders, revealing tighty-whitey underwear and nothing else. Scott, Israeli Doodee and I looked at each other with equal looks of "Is this really happening!?" She knelt down to face the Incredible Hulk's incredible hulk, and at that point the same thought ran through all of our heads simultaneously... "Not a chance." Oh, but how wrong we were. She pulled down this dude's jock strap to reveal a freakish 11-inch ramjam boner-nation. A collective gasp shuddered through the scattered crowd, and for the next 3 minutes they engaged in softcore faux sex ON STAGE. We were in a state of absolute shock. This was a regular nightclub we thought, not Marv Albert's chamber of love. Finally the curtains mercifully closed, and Bob Sinclair's club anthem "Hold On" screamed over the speakers. We were paralyzed with "what-just-happened-to-me"-ness, but everyone else sprinted onto the dancefloor and began shaking it up like nothing out of the ordinary had just happened! Where the hell were we?! If anything, they danced with more vigor, most likely to compensate for their newfound feelings of loathesome sexual inadequacy thanks to the trenchoat-wearing tripod... Definitely one of the weirdest and funniest things I've ever witnessed on the road. <br /> <br />In the subsequent nights we ate great dinners with new friends at the famed steakhouse Des Nivel and the hidden "878" lounge, enjoyed the social scene and chess games at our LimeHouse Hostel, went to the stadium to watch the biggest futbol match of the year between Boca and River, attended a beautiful Friday night Shabbat service led by our new friend Sheila, flew to Iguazu to see the INCREDIBLE Iguazu Falls (they put Niagra to shame), and watched playoff basketball while consuming 4 litre beers jugs with our buddy Murph at The Alamo Bar. Murph is a 40-something American who regaled us with stories of youthful drug consumption, women chasery and crafty law evasion. His opening line to me was, "I recorded with my band at Tuff Gong Studios (inside the former home of Bob Marley). You've probably heard of us, RKWP?" When I looked at him blank-faced, he answered incredulously, "Come on man, Rich Kids With Problems!" Sadly, he was dead serious. Mark it down dude, another classic character from the road. <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2F5sSVALBEA76qMLOkc-3sqFY39iYMDCBACpScGhZabh9QcZfM-7MN7Szco8QAsSy2ixJ5QuXUrNDhzCXivx4KPMhvniElJWPtyGgzX_BiWgPvyIjcpeBG91rf9_EHgbRd3ux/s1600-h/AB-+Shaun+Connerys+Grandson.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2F5sSVALBEA76qMLOkc-3sqFY39iYMDCBACpScGhZabh9QcZfM-7MN7Szco8QAsSy2ixJ5QuXUrNDhzCXivx4KPMhvniElJWPtyGgzX_BiWgPvyIjcpeBG91rf9_EHgbRd3ux/s400/AB-+Shaun+Connerys+Grandson.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5061603577359641682" /></a> <br />Lastly, I was also able to do something while in BA that I had dreamed about for years. Each of us has those nostaligic handful of songs from our youth. We remember the exact setting and details of our first listen. For me, one of these songs is Jethro Tull's "Locomotive Breath." While on another long-drive with my dad to an 11 year-old AAU practice, the song came on the radio. I remember it as clear as day... he immediately sat up in his seat, turned up the volume, and looked me dead in the eyes. "Oh this is one of my all-time favorites!" I had no idea what the hell was occuring, but I knew the song had to be sweet and that my dad was suddenly driving about 35 mph over the speed limit. I dug the heavy bassline right away. The lyrical delivery was definitely cool, except for the fact that my dad sang the lyrics "Runs the all-time loser, headlong to his death" as if I was the all-time loser. He got especially juiced when shouting in my prepubescent face "His woman and his best friend, in bed and having fun".. and I'm pretty sure we went over 100mph when he howled "And the all-time winner, has got him by the balls!!!" while viscerally demonstrating a testicular grip and squeeze (sidenote: at that time, my balls were nowhere near that big). The flute solo was kickin though, especially the priceless "Ugggh" grunt, and seeing this all in person when they performed at Buenos Aires' Luna Park on April 20th was a special, special memory. If you get the chance to see them live, check out "The Tull" for sure. <br /> <br />After Scott and I had a brotherly depart, I headed by ferry on the Rio del Plata to Colonia, Uruguay for two days with a band of merry travelers from California, Germany, England and Australia. The beautiful colonial city lent itself to some pleasant perusing the first day, and after mis amigos left me solo I rented a motorbike the second day and bombed around the coastal city streets for hours. With raging music penetrating the ear drums, wind whipping my face and sun pelting the shoulders, I felt alive and free once again... Easy Rider style. <br /> <br />The next day I flew to Quito, Ecuador to meet up with my former Semester at Sea roommate, the legendary Jaret Martin. We have traveled this magnificent country together for the past 11 days, soaking in its splendor and regurgitating its unequivocal radness. Although I had my camera stolen somehow during my first day here, I can say with absolute conviction that this is my favorite country in South America thus far. Details to follow in the next installment... <br /> <br />Throughout my days in Argentina, I spent many hours on bus rides just listening to the sounds of my breath. In Guatemala at Las Piramides, whether during mediation or yoga, the breath was constantly emphasized as a focal point of self-control and power. It is so basic, so entrenched in every second of our physical existence, that I felt a compulsion to dig deeper to find something there. In symbiotic harmony with the ever-present heartbeat, the breath is the cyclical manifestation of the lifeforce that moves through each of us at every moment. But what could I take from this? I spent hours of frustration, meandering through thoughtways that made partial sense before I finally succumbed to complacency, resolving to spend my busrides focused on tuneage above all else. But in listening closely to the lyrics of Michael Franti's song "Speaking of Tongues", at one point he says, "...and that would be a shame, because the exhale is the name of the game." The line lingered on the mental treadmill for a few days, jogging through layers of latent lessons until a revelatory thunderstorm of thoughts busted through with unrelenting waves of mental sentences, providing the long-awaited answer to the question in question-<br /><br />The breath is the perfect representation of the balances we naturally create through our daily actions. We are always both giving and accepting, but the measure and contents of these acts can vary greatly depending on the decisions we make. Inhalation is an act of positive consumption, actively providing us with the essential elements of existence. Because of this, when someone says "Just breathe", we immediately tell ourselves to inhale deeply. Most of our efforts are consistently focused on the inhale rather than the exhale; the consumption of added goods to our lives seems supremely significant. We place great value on the things we possess, the things that we take in, to make a tangible part of the our reality. Alleviation from troubling issues is felt by addition, by augmenting the body and spirit. We feel stress mounting, so we take a long, deep breath inward. We draw breath and our ribcage, in congruence with our possessive value, expands.<br /><br />Through a lifestyle of capitalist competition, which I agree is the best economic system, the focus becomes production and consumption. Our actions revolve around the positive elements we desire to contribute to our lives... Family, love, material success, etc. We want to inhale these assumed providers of happiness. The only problem is that sometimes we concentrate so much on the inhalation, we lose sight of what we're forced to exhale in the process. Every intake of breath necessitates a responsive expulsion. The realization was that the same is true in life's pursuit of our individual goals. There is a realized gain AND loss through each of our actions, which breathing demonstrates to us during every second of every day.<br /><br />Fortunately, the body expels waste product through the act of exhaling. But this same waste is utilized by the environmental elements around us for beneficial nutrition. Each time we exhale, we are equally giving off a piece of ourselves while contributing to the realized existence of others. So we must ask ourselves certain questions... Is the inhalation of a better salary worth the exhalation of a significant friendship? How will the exhalation of what I deem my life's waste affect the common good? Am I contributing trails of trash or waves of worthiness through my exhaling actions?... The breath reminds us to always value the inhale, but we must also remain cognizant of our exhale as well. The inhale gets the fame, but remember that the exhale's the name of the game.<br /> <br />I hope this email finds each of you filled with health, happiness and fulfillment.<br /><br />Challenge the assumptions,<br />AB<br /> <br /><strong>Key Trip Statistics </strong><br />Days- 94<br />Showers with Heat- 27<br />Song of Choice- "Foot of Pride" by Bob Dylan. Take a lyrical ride.<br />Book Selection- "Global Mind Change" by Willis W. Harman<br />Occupation Given on Hostel Registrations- Sex-change Authorizer<br />Quote of Note- "True, deep, abiding love doesn't create the path for others, it lights it." Thanks to my mom for that one. <br />Random Person- Scott Manson<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhqeHA52jMOo4GXipkY95SNxdFad3erLHhRn46tRWY-dkOacBT6FKrXKJSdQe5ZigWYYur7RxF1VpZc14RuBVJM-HOSQR05KH0pUA0-sL5aCe2mvy94ag5IfguwgMZh2lT3P_B/s1600-h/AB-+Iguazu+1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhqeHA52jMOo4GXipkY95SNxdFad3erLHhRn46tRWY-dkOacBT6FKrXKJSdQe5ZigWYYur7RxF1VpZc14RuBVJM-HOSQR05KH0pUA0-sL5aCe2mvy94ag5IfguwgMZh2lT3P_B/s400/AB-+Iguazu+1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5061604024036240482" /></a>Adam Braunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17009168290066495306noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13545768.post-54929241511184558992007-04-24T12:35:00.000-04:002007-04-24T12:44:24.789-04:00South American Adventures- Part 10: Pictures and Postponement<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjy3STEKLAKGhNQmwz24WBZs9eaeoWsm7iQeW9h-hLZYgPxiZXI7DdMyPCSFuhEiDFX-oiPlF898rH_ME4bAIXuOcAXFIxfIgyzEsTQpOL0BbM8DzNbNne0CT0WV-Kf0yA2gAh/s1600-h/me1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjy3STEKLAKGhNQmwz24WBZs9eaeoWsm7iQeW9h-hLZYgPxiZXI7DdMyPCSFuhEiDFX-oiPlF898rH_ME4bAIXuOcAXFIxfIgyzEsTQpOL0BbM8DzNbNne0CT0WV-Kf0yA2gAh/s400/me1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5057035836639922994" /></a><br />Hola muchachos de Colonia, Uruguay!<br /><br />I'll be writing a lengthy Buenos Aires update from Ecuador in the next few days, but I have good news and bad news, so I'll keep this brief and spicy. The bad news is that I'm enjoying the travels so much that I've decided to extend my South American stay for an extra month and will now be returning at the end, rather than the start of May. Therefore I won't be able to see your beautiful faces for a few extra weeks...<br /><br />The good news is that I've finally loaded and labeled most of my pictures from this trip (and a ton from Semester at Sea), which you can view at:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.arbraun.shutterfly.com">www.arbraun.shutterfly.com</a><br /><br />Feel free to comment or hit me back with reviews.<br />I miss you all like barbeque sauce.<br /><br />Challenge the assumptions,<br />ABAdam Braunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17009168290066495306noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13545768.post-50597992816544585442007-04-18T12:17:00.000-04:002007-04-18T21:07:17.692-04:00South American Adventures- Part 9: Braun Brothers in Argentina, Part 1<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLfeqtibbXaDHJ2k0zZeuyyGPzbjeeSmJMIzARSdOSTP-s3GMDvZtmhtf47LMHmysBH0Yo8Yx94G5hr7P2LyPVoiCPDkAS-4S425-OBLspkkp_bQb_dnyC3PwF6HHUbyxS7Qxa/s1600-h/AB+Argentina+Interviews.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLfeqtibbXaDHJ2k0zZeuyyGPzbjeeSmJMIzARSdOSTP-s3GMDvZtmhtf47LMHmysBH0Yo8Yx94G5hr7P2LyPVoiCPDkAS-4S425-OBLspkkp_bQb_dnyC3PwF6HHUbyxS7Qxa/s400/AB+Argentina+Interviews.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5054807787225231010" /></a><br />Hola muchachos de Buenos Aires, Argentina!<br /><br />After 2 months of traveling solo (with a brief visit from my good buddy Matt Wiggins), I have become accustomed to a certain barebones backpacking lifestyle- occasional showers, rarely done laundry, extremely cheap hostels and even cheaper food... no more with Scott "Scoot-Nuggets" Braun in the mix for a 20-day visit. He arrived toting a new Blackberry, iPod shuffle and Sidekick 3 in the spot where his bugspray should have packed. The fates laughed deliriously and made raincheck plans to mock him for this splendiferous miscalculation... Our first night together we enjoyed another great seder with the Herzberg's in Santiago, and then headed the next day to Valparaiso, a beautiful coastal city which was the former home of famed poet Pablo Neruda. After perusing the insanely cool neighborhood with multi-colored buildings and art galleries, I allowed myself to be taken to the first nice restaurant I'd visited in 2 months. We dined like royalty at a gorgeous high-end bistro with an outdoor patio overlooking the illuminating city lights... Scott chose a fine Caesar salad with duck puree dip for the bread as an appetizer, I went with french fries. The best interaction of the meal came when he asked the waiter, "So these wine prices are by the glass?" and received a shocked response, "Umm no sir, those are by the bottle." Hahaha, welcome to South American prices in the most expensive country on the continent.<br /><br />The delicious dinner was followed by two brotherly Coronas at a great jazz bar, a good night sleep, and then the 12 hour-bus ride over the Argentinian border (where our bus almost left a bathroom-bound Braun) to Mendoza. We happened upon great timing with Santa Semana, the most holy and celebrated 4-day weekend on the South American calender. Mendoza was a scalding hotspot for university students on break, so we quickly met some great internationals. Our first night in the hostel we engaged in savory conversation with three Californian chicas, self-nicknamed the "Dudettes", and an unintentionally hysterical Georgetown guy named Taylor. The combination of the girls' penchant for saying "duuuuude" and Taylor's statements like, "Oh my god! This ice cream is amazing! Seriously you guys, this is the best day of my life, that's how incredible this ice cream is!" made for a great time had by all. <br /><br />In our four days inhabiting this splendid city the Braun brothers ate massive Argentinian steaks for breakfast, lunch and dinner at each meal... We're real men, you can check our genetics. The second day in Mendoza we walked the city streets for hours, chilled in the sprawling park, and then headed to a bar and later discotec with some newly made Brazilian and Columbian friends. We were juiced and ready to dance, or as our dad calls his oldschool hip gyrations, "Shake it up." To our dismay, the club transitioned its playlist between awful house music and even worse Argentinian pop songs that everyone but us knew the words to... Awesome. Our diversionary entertainment was provided through a game of "You pick a girl for me to Freak On", wherein we select random lovelies or not-so-lovelies that the other must make feel like a natural woman. The debate still rages, but I think I won... Finally the DJ broke out Usher's "Yea", and from a distance I saw Scott busting some serious A-Town Stomps. Sadly, no more than 30 seconds into the song they cut to "Insane in the Membrane", so Scott gave up on all coolness and broke into a Central Middle School furious dancefancy.<br /><br />The next day we spent several more hours getting to the know the city streets, had the best steaks of our lives at Restaurant Facundo, and then while changing money at the casino decided to stay for some brotherly debauchery. We hit the $10 peso blackjack tables with a fury rarely seen in the Southern Hemisphere. I immediately became fully commited to drinking as many of the free beers as possible, while dropping lovely comments towards the 50 year-old cougar seated to our right. We were breaking even while I drained brews and dropped ridiculous lines to everyone in sight... It was great. Everyone was having a blast, mainly because the Braun brothers were on absolute fire. The casino owner soon came down to meet the young Americans who had lit ablaze his blackjack room, and offered us the penthouse suite for the weekend and a free dinner the next night with his gorgeous 27 year-old twin model daughters... Okay that last part isn't true at all. What did happen was that I got cut off by the servers for the first time in my life by any establishment... And it was a casino, where they want you to get wasted! We eventually left down $50 combined after hours of fun, agreeing that it was the best time we'd ever had in a casino for such little change. In retrospect, I'm pretty sure the cougar roofied my beers. Like I said, she was diggin my flow!... Still, I respect the move. Damn you classy vixen.<br /><br />By the way, a random interjection of questionitude- If you had the choice between only being able to wear kitten fur or puma, which would you choose? I'd go with puma, but only because it's the more aggressive of the two felines in question. Sometimes you've just gotta let people know you mean business, ya know? Dave Rocco knows exactly what I'm talking about...<br /><br />Anyway, the next day we again walked the city through and through before taking the overnight bus to Rosario, a city famed for the beauty of its female population which outnumbers the males seven-to-one. Yup, its a rumored fact, so you know it's true. Let that one swish around the gums for a little bit... Unfortunately, I lost the bus ride gamble as I was seated next to a wickedly diesel bodybuilder whose beastly forearms couldn't help but extend into my personal prism of privacy. The apex of awkwardness was reached right away, as his mini-sleeved tshirt forced his triceps to conspicuously rub against mine because I happened to be wearing a tshit, albeit normal-sleeved, but a tshirt nonetheless. We shifted silently in obvious discomfort with the situation for several hours, until he finally placed a jacket between us and we once again felt like heterosexual men. Within 30 minutes this giant was sleeping on my shoulder, and my heterosexual pride was again stripped... When we got off the bus 14 hours later, Scott immediately told me about his ride- "Dude it was great. I sat next to that cute blond 23 year-old, she was giving me hand massages and shit, it was awesome." Adam 0, Scott 1.<br /><br />Upon arrival in Rosario we checked into the phenomenal Casona de Don Jaime Hostel, where we were destined for glory. We immediately befriended two of the best characters I've met thus far in my travels- A young Israeli named Doodee who after drinking became a salsa-hipped dancefloor maestro, and a neckless 300lb Peruvian who'd been living in the hostel for a year, everyday wearing a size medium Philadelpha Eagles Hugh Douglas jersey with hot red tightpants and hiking boots. He only spoke in Spanish curses, and fittingly his name was Angel. The date happened to be April 9th, the birthday of our father. In honor of the event, I decided to make it OldSchool Erv Braun Appreciation Day, and therefore shaved down my month-old beard into the rudest mustache you've seen since Erv circa 1986. We spent an excellent day perusing the city with our new friends, and because only four of us were staying in the hostel that night, the two-man staff locked up the restaurant doors and we dined like latin kings on incredible steak, potatoes, veggies, unlimited wine and spiritual lubrication. The Braun brothers agreed that it was the best $3 dinner of our lives... Yet it only served as a mere preface for the day that was to follow.<br /><br />Our time in Rosario coincided with a wild mosquito epidemic, so it came as no surprise that Scott got stung on the forehead the previous night... The kid's seriously delicious, to insects he tastes like blood-flavored icecream sundaes. What was truly shocking though, was the tumorous forehead lump that developed after the bite. It served two magnificent purposes- 1) To Scott scared shitless because everyone immediately joked in half-seriousness that it was Dengue Fever. His name immediately became "Dengue" throughout the hostel. 2) To provide me with nonstop laughter when looking at the absurdity of my mustached face next to his Dengue forehead. We were in rare form.<br /><br />So as the hideous brothers awoke the next morning, we were greeted by the news that TV cameras were coming to the hostel that afternoon to interview travellers about their impressions of Rosario. Scott is a natural showman, but his skills were greatly augmented by his Borat-inspired oration that he had been delivering in horribly broken Spanish to every single female we met on the street, regardless of looks, age or Cesarian section scar. He had asked at least 100 women by this point, "Quieres ser mi esposa? Soy de los Estados Unidos, y yo tengo un television." Translation = Do you want to be my wife? I'm from the United States and I have a television. He wasn't getting any yes's, but he was getting many laughs and a few booby flashes... I kid, no booby flashes. So when the cameras arrived it was only natural that he delivered the speech to the people of Rosario while sporting Dengue forehead, and was followed by his brother who repeated the sentiments with a wink and mustached grin.<br /><br />From there we headed to a waterfront restaurant with Doodee and two local girls we'd met on the busride, and within twenty minutes of being seated, our fire was fanned. A gorgeous female field reporter began walking around our table with her cameraman, apparently shooting a story on the mosquito epidemic. Scott immediately approached and proposed marriage to her, which she refused but let him down softly by insisting she interview us for her story that was going to air on the same station as the Rosario traveler piece. The only day in my life that I'm rocking a gobstopping mustache next to Dengue-horns and we get put on TV twice! The fates are funny I tell you...<br /><br />The day raged on with our four-man crew of Angel, Doodee, Scott and myself going to an indoor GoKart racetrack. It was clear by the trashtalk that they assumed the races would be competitive, but they overlooked a very small but simple fact. I had a mustache. Anyone who knows racing will tell you that mustaches equal three things- speed, cornering prowess, and a lack of basic education. As expected, I ruthlessly dominated every race and celebrated atop the sweet podium that I previously thought only existed in ExciteBike. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvjS-8gm2X_dgKQxfAYtvi7g7KP6FbNTOpdiCQKYcaBlwz806KZE3ELxr1KAvvmDA5iwys3m-9FMSNQtgJzARPU3uYtHqSMjOtR0Amb3RCL-q0KpnoiiIyA6t_ItlkHflaxET8/s1600-h/AB+Argentina+Excitebike.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvjS-8gm2X_dgKQxfAYtvi7g7KP6FbNTOpdiCQKYcaBlwz806KZE3ELxr1KAvvmDA5iwys3m-9FMSNQtgJzARPU3uYtHqSMjOtR0Amb3RCL-q0KpnoiiIyA6t_ItlkHflaxET8/s400/AB+Argentina+Excitebike.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5054810274011295410" /></a><br />Following the races we looked up at the TV to see our splendid mugs on the nightly news, and once again high-fives and Spanish curses permeated the cool evening air. We then went back to the hostel to eat a big dinner among fellow guests and jammin music. Scott and I were seated next to a 50 year-old German man who was traveling solo in hostels without a word of Spanish knowledge and fronting the most aggressive toupet we'd ever seen. When he said he worked at a paper company I couldn't help but respond with, "Ohhh, Dunder Mifflin?" (If you don't get this joke, buy every episode ever of The Office and watch them consecutively without blinking. You'll thank me, I promise) Scott practically snarfed his drink, and the rest of dinner was littered with immature bathroom jokes that won us no respect from our fellow diners. Still, we made some friends and the German turned out to be a great guy. Plus, Scott got bit on the forehead by a mosquito for the third time in three days. Clearly this was swift justice, Walker Texas Ranger style.<br /><br />After the comida we bounced to a karaoke bar with our local female friends, and again lit the place on fire. Unfortunately we started slow, as our brotherly duet of "Summer Lovin" with Scott playing the part of Sandy bombed horribly. No one laughed, clapped or even gave us a courteous jazz-snap. The rebound was strong though, as Scott put on an unbelievable show for "Billie Jean" that culminated in him doing a chest-compression dancemove and at least 10 seconds of serious roboting onstage. He later took the mic when a friend struggled and sang "No hablo espanol... No hablo espanol. Quien quieres ser mi esposa. En serio, quien?" The people laughed their drunken faces off, and Scott became the official Diego Maradona of Argentinian karaoke. At this point we could crap gold, especially after befriending some rowdy young locals that were farewell partying for a wild friend who spent 15 minutes trying to pick up an Irish girl through his unintelligably broken English, offering her cocaine he didn't have by singing Eric Clapton's "Cocaine" into her face. "Daaaadaaadaa daaaa, da da da daaa da da, COCAINE!" he'd scream at her from three inches away, until he finally came back to the table laughing in pain, and informed us that the reason she couldn't understand his slaughtered English was because she was a native Argentinian from Rosario. We practically peed ourselves, shook it up salsa-style for a little longer, and then called it an early night at 5:30am.<br /><br />The next day we bid a sad farewell depart to our great friends in Rosario, and rolled into Buenos Aires. The brotherly adventures have continued in fine fashion since arriving in this effusive city, but those shall be dispensed in the second installment of the Braun Brothers in Argentina emails. Normally at this point I would write a paragraph about some lesson that I've learned via the travels in the past week or two. However, the recent events have taught me one simple creed that all should heed- No traveler should pack a Blackberry instead of bugspray, the decision will always come back to bite you in the forehead.<br /><br />I hope this email finds each of you filled with health, happiness and fulfillment.<br /><br />Challenge the assumptions,<br />AB<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Key Trip Statistics</span><br />Days- 75<br />Showers with Heat- 20<br />Song of Choice- "Highway Patrolman" by Bruce Springsteen. Hauntingly moving song about brotherly devotion. A tip of the cap to Catfish McNamara for this gem.<br />Book Selection- "Socrates Cafe" by Christopher Phillips<br />Occupation Given on Hostel Registrations- Highlander<br />Quote of Note- "It is possible to have too much. A man with one watch knows the time, a man with two is never sure."<br />Random Person- Heather WeissAdam Braunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17009168290066495306noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13545768.post-82069721666362819862007-04-11T13:23:00.000-04:002007-04-11T13:25:00.069-04:00South American Adventures- Part 8: Southern Peru & ChileHola amigos de Rosario, Argentina... the land of beautiful women and even more beautiful steaks.<br /><br />Let me first thank the gracious offers that so many of you extended to visit the absurdly fictional town of Picantemanos. Many of you got that it was an April Fools edition, written in South American style (meaning late), but the second update was to see who would really believe in 12-fingered families, alpaca-chase training for mayoral slapping contests, and cocktail umbrella gang warfare in a town called Hot Sauce Hands... Picantemanos is about as real as Harrison Whitman's sister. Special bonus gullible points go out to Donnie Iyamu McGrath, Fernando and Jose Cuartas, Alyssa Dawn McConkey, Dan Rockin Teicher, P-Goo Martin, Jordan Johnson Jhabvala and John Catpiss Chernin. By the way John, I was also the one that bought the advertising space on the Daily Jolt last year to put up that frontpage ad selling your virginity. Happy belated birthday.<br /><br />Onto reality... There is actually a lot to write about considering I haven't sent a factual update in over two weeks. After leaving Uyuni, Bolivia I did actually head to La Paz for two days. I went there for one reason only, to ride on a bike tour down The World's Most Dangerous Road between La Paz and Curoico. All I knew was that the Israelis refused to go out of fear and that my good friend Noah Marwil had previously written in a Bolivian recommendations email- "The next day was the best. I signed up for a bike ride down a road called "Death Valley". It's beautiful and dangerously sexy. DO THIS." Noah is a true connoisseur with over 23 years of radical experience in "sexy", so with his ringing endorsement I wanted in. What I didn't find out until we mounted our bikes was that over 7000 people have died on the road, averaging about 100 per year, most recently an Israeli tourist just two weeks ago and a Canadian six weeks before our venture... Imagine an SUV-wide dirt and rock path winding through waterfall-laced gorgeous green mountains, with no railing to protect individuals from dropping off the 300 meter edges, and you'll have a vague mental image of the road. In retrospect, it was one of the stupidest but coolest things I've ever done in my travels. The hours of riding were exhilarating, the scenery incredible, and the fact that I survived is probably my favorite part.<br /><br />From there I took a bus back over the border to Puno, Peru and visited the floating reed Uros Islands of Lake Titacaca. The inhabitants explained that they were too poor to purchase real land and enjoyed the ancient traditional lifestyle of their life on these floating islands which they maintained by constantly adding new reeds to the infrastructure. Another incredibly cool place to see. From Puno I hopped an overnight bus to Arequipa, and went on a two-day tour of Colca Canyon. Thermal baths, condor viewing, delicious food and excellent company made this trip to one of the deepest points on the planet highly enjoyable. I got along especially well with a 50-something American couple who were in their fifth of a planned 25 years of global travel via the small catamaran they sailed around the world. Fucking righteous man...<br /><br />Upon my return to Arequipa I went out for a great night of drinking and dancing with some Norwegian girls and a hysterical Scottish guy from our hostel. The next day was for digesting Arequipa, which is a truly beautiful city that I highly recommend visiting. The Santa Catalina Monastery is a small city unto itself with intriguing buildings and beautiful tiny cobblestone streets. The walls of each plaza and room are painted brilliantly forceful blues, reds, yellows and creams. Trust me, it's a uniquely amazing place. I normally don't fall in love with churches or museums, but Santa Catalina was brilliant and a great spot to spend a few hours in meditative contemplation and reflection.<br /><br />Afterwords the overnight bus to Nazca wasn't bad and once there, I was able to sit shotgun in a 6-seater plane riding over the famed yet mysterious Nazca Lines. These are recently discovered lines carved into the salty desert soil, making massive designs and geometric figures when viewed aerially. Among the thousands of shapes there's a monkey, spider, hummingbird, trapezoidal landing strips and even a waving spaceman... but many are dated to about a thousand years ago, and can only be viewed from planes which didn't exist at that time. So these eternal questions remain- Who were these designs made for? What was their purpose? Does Luke Tedaldi really have a ponytail? Wicked cool stuff.<br /><br />From Nazca I ventured to Ica to grab lunch at the Huacachina Oasis. This is a crazy little lake with surrounding vegetation in the middle of massive sand dunes. The locals say the waters have healing powers, I say the chocolate there tasted delicious. Finally the exhausting day of travel ended with a bus ride to Lima, where I found a great hostel in Miraflores and chilled out until my flight to Santiago, Chile the next day. Unfortunately my flight arrived at 2am, and I didn't feel like entering the city in search of a hostel with rare 24-hour check in. The only solution was to nap in the airport until daylight, which www.SleepingInAirports.com said was a viable option. After eventually finding a dark corner behind the worker's storage area, I hid there discreetly and stole two hours of awful sleep on a hard wooden bench. Three more hours at a breakfast buffet restaurant, eight hours of walking the city center with my big backpack, and I landed at the doorstep of the Herzberg family. <br /><br />April 2nd was the first night of Passover, so my friend Suz linked me up with a Chilean family who offered to host me for the night and provide a delicious seder. It was honestly the first real house I'd entered in two months, so the wireless internet, hot shower and comfortable bed were tasty luxuries for a weary traveler. The seder was attended by both family and friends of all ages, and the table danced with conversation and song in Spanish, English, Hebrew and German. A highly memorable evening. The next day my brother Scott Scooter Braun arrived...<br /><br />I know several of you are fiending for some Scoot-nuggets stories, but like any self-respecting author I know the value of a cliffhanger. The next email or two will be fully devoted to the adventurous tales of the Braun brothers in Argentina... And they will be as delicious as the 600g steak that I nearly cried while eating last week because it was so fucking good.<br />A perfect three-word description of our time thus far would be "Laughter through Wifehuntery"...There is no longer any doubt in my mind that my older brother is certifiably insane, but more importantly, he and everyone around him has a damn funky time reveling in that insanity... myself included.<br /><br />Finally, the last 10 days, between the Herzberg's hospitality and the arrival of my brother for three weeks of siamese travel, have been saturated with thoughts of family. In my travels thus far I've met some great and some not so great people, but the consistent common denominator has been that those with a strong family base tend to have inherent levels of intuitive morality. They respect the shaded lines between right and wrong. They have open-hearts and kind words for strangers, perhaps because they are ingrained with a certain skew towards positivity that comes from a loving household. That's certainly not to say that those without this family base cannot possess the same character traits; it's just not quite as common in those who were never bestowed with the gift of family life... The ultimate reality is that no one knows your inner skin like your family, and no one deserves more credit for your outer skin than those same people. We often take their sacrifices and love for granted, but perhaps once in a while we should each take account of how important that familial love is to each of us... Gracias mom and dad por todos, and a big happy birthday to my brother Sam Braunlanga, my beautiful sister Liza, and my dad swervin Ervin.<br /><br />I hope this email finds each of you filled with happiness, health and fulfillment.<br /><br />Challenge the Assumptions,<br />AB<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Key Trip Statistics</span><br />Days- 68<br />Showers with Heat- 16<br />Song of Choice- "Speaking of Tongues" by Michael Franti.<br />Book Selection- "My Losing Season" by Pat Conroy<br />Occupation Given on Hostel Registrations- Chocolateer<br />Quote of Note- "Open your eyes and look within. Are you satisfied, with the life you're living?" -Bob Marley in "Exodus"<br />Random Person- Miss PiggyAdam Braunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17009168290066495306noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13545768.post-56357216286400673722007-04-07T19:58:00.000-04:002007-04-07T20:05:42.021-04:00South American Adventures- Part 7: Picantemanos UpdateHola de Mendoza, Argentina!<br /><br />It seems as though almost all 100 or so of you on my mass email list responded in some fashion to the last email... Apparently it was a lightening rod of controversy and potential tomfoolery, so let me now dispel all myths about my commitment to the people of Picantemanos and their extremely extraordinary extremities. I will be going there at the end of June, and I am sure that the craziness of the experience will leave me a stronger and better person.<br /><br />To answer the questions-<br /><br />1) FACT- Alfonso is real. I discretely took a few snapshots of his freak hands, but I forgot my camera cable so I'm unable to load the pics at this time (the same reason why I haven't created an online album with any of the trip's 700 shots). His father, Alfonso, is also very real as are his 12 hideous digits. His four sons, all named Alfonso but nicknamed Zo, Z, Zorge and Zoseph, all possessing normal 5-fingered hands, are great kids. His wife, Alfonsa, happens to be a sweet woman but after witnessing the respect a 6-fingered man receives in Peru, I understand why Alfonso despises the pathetic weakness of Alfonsa's genetic makeup.<br /><br />2) FACT- The world's first and only cocktail umbrella cartel will become a reality, and it will exist in Picantemanos, Peru. Unfortunately, in recent years the cocktail umbrella business has become a dirty game around here, soiled by corruption and backstabbing... literally stabbing in the back with small, delightfully colorful umbrellas has become a method of persecution by local gangs. The wounds are small and non-life threatening, but it gets the message across when you're lying face down in the mud with cocktail umbrellas sticking out of your back. Yet the proud people will not be intimidated by their weaponry.<br /><br />3) FACT- The slapping contest with the outgoing Jefe Superior will occur on the Summer Solstice in 2007. Apparently I have to undergo 5 days of alpaca chasing as training before the event because it will exhaust every ounce of energy that I possess. There is no loser in this contest, only two sore-faced winners.<br /><br />4) FACT- Yes, the closest translation for the spanish word Picantemanos is "Hot Sauce Hands".<br /><br />To those of you that showed immediate unquestioning support for my becoming mayor of a Peruvian town called Hot Sauce Hands where the people have 12 fingers, mayoral inaugurations include slapping contests, and the biggest problems are dog-shit covered streets and cocktail umbrellas cartels, especially to those that are interested in arranging a summer visit- I thank you for your unwavering commitment to the absurdity of the adventures thus far. I love you the way Dennis Stratton loves bestiality pornography. But please don't change any of your current plans because I'm awaiting to hear back from the outgoing Jefe Superior about whether other Westerners would be allowed to move into/visit the village. When I know more, so will you...<br /><br />To the rest of you, I still love you, but more in the way Phil Charm loves Lion King... which is a strong devotion, but not nearly as intense as Stratton's insatiable lust for hardcore bestiality porn.<br /><br />I hope this email finds your day filled with happiness, health and<br />fulfillment.<br /><br />Challenge the assumptions,<br />ABAdam Braunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17009168290066495306noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13545768.post-8747911416047987102007-04-02T10:47:00.000-04:002007-04-02T10:50:33.812-04:00Hola amigos de Santiago, Chile!<br /><br />Well there's an insane amount that occurred since the last update, but I'll trim the fat and get the filet mignon... the deliciously juice stuff. After Uyuni I headed back to La Paz for a few days, crossed the border to Puno, visited Arequipa and then anticipated spending a few days between Nazca and Lima. Fortunately for all players involved, the good fates blew my sails in another diretion- Towards Picantemanos. Let's take a few steps backwards... On the overnight bus from Arequipa to Nazca I was seated next to a man with a peculiar ailment, or wondrous power, depending on how you view the situation. Alfonso, my seatmate, had 6 fingers on each hand. It wasn't a situation where you would spend hours addressing someone and then suddenly notice; his sixth digit was blindingly apparent from the moment I met the grip of his elephant-hand. The sinewy second-pinky aggressively wrapped around my underpalm, and I couldn't decide whether to giggle or shriek in horror. I compromised by laying an involuntary but extremely soft fart into my leather seat to alleviate the mounting nervous energy. Over the next few hours he kept me enthralled with tales of Picantemanos, his small pueblo in the native Peruvian mountains. <br /><br />Alfonso possessed a vigorously brooding hatred towards his wife of 32 years, because she had apparently "tainted the sangre pura" of his 6-fingered ancestry. I didn't believe a word of his claims of a 6-finger bloodline. Total crap. But he went on, decrying that not one of his four sons was born with six-fingers per hand, thus shaming not only himself but all of his living relatives who proudly possessed the extra digit... After several hours of conversations and catnaps, we heard a loud pop and the bus came to a slow halt. Broken axle. Shit. Alfonso laughed hysterically at the misfortune, saying that Picantemanos was only a 5km walk away and invited me to spend the night at his home... Of course I jumped at the opportunity, especially after the righteous excellence of my Guatemalan home stay with Joel Puac.<br /><br />Then magic struck... When I awoke the next morning inside of Alfonso's tiny home, I was greeted by his entire family of "5-fingered freaks". During the day we toured the town, which exports papaya and alpaca wool mostly, but many of the elderly women have created a successful collective of cocktail umbella makers. They spend hours making these decorative miniature umbrellas, but turn a pretty nice profit selling to nearby resort towns... Then around 3pm we went to the bar, and we start to drink. Heavily. The 96% grain alcohol that the Potosi miners consume is also the Picantemanos beverage of choice, so in no time I was absolutely housed. We played a wild drinking game that involved dice, singing and a strange ovational dance to Pachamama, the indigenous Incan G-d who in many parts has been supplanted by some dude named Jesus. In my spiritually lubricated state I explained at length my desire to one day start an NGO that raises money at home and works with local communities abroad to create self-empowering schools of effective education. Alfonso and his compadres sang a loud "Salud!" to the concept, and the snowball began rolling...<br /><br />It turns out that their annual election for the equivalent of a mayor ("Jefe Superior") was that night, and the entire community was disappointed with the two running candidates- an elderly woman who sold alpaca meat at absurdly high prices because she was the only supplier, and the husband who detested her because she allegedly killed his favorite alpaca without an utterance of request. He was running for the position just to spite her. Spurred by drunken jubilation, Alfonso and the rest of the merry bar patrons suggested I run in opposition, but I obviously demurred. At that point Alfonso's father entered the bar, and was called over to meet the gringo Americano. As I shook his hand, I instinctively felt something strange. When I looked down, I saw it- His 6th finger! The crazy bloodline was true. As the over-powering chills of fate ran throughout my numbed body, I saw the signs very clearly, and without hesitation agreed to run for Jefe Superior. Why not? How many 23 year-old Americans have the opportunity to make a real difference in a foreign community, especially through the position of Mayor?<br /><br />The town gathered in the outdoor community center, and at that point the nerves started to kick in... My heart was racing, but the grain alcohol Alfonso forced down my dry throat before addressing the crowd helped immensely. I did my best to emulate the "Dwight's Speech" episode from The Office- waving oustretched arms in sweeping motions and pounding alcohol-soaked fists on the table, I felt like an crazed Evangelist. The speech simply restated my desire to empower the locals through education, and also mixed in tidbits about the need to clean up the dog shit that covered the streets, create a cocktail umbrella cartel with surrounding towns, and ended with "Viva Pachamama!" The gente ate it up. Repeated cries of "Con Juntos!", several more devilish drinks, a shouting pair of alpaca owners, and two hours later they informed me that I'd been selected by the community as the new Jefe Superior.<br /><br />Brothers and sisters, I know this sounds insane, but I really think it's an amazing opportunity that cannot be passed up. I can still travel South America for the next few months because my term begins with the summer solstice on June 21st, so it's an ideal setup. I've emailed my future employer Bain and requested a one-year delay on my start date so I can join with the next incoming class, and I'm preparted to fight them tooth-and-nail to make that happen. The initiation ceremony apparently involves more heavy drinking, a 10 day retreat into the mountains to find guidance from Pachamama, and an absurdly weird slapping contest with the outgoing Jefe Superior... It should be a wild ride, and of course each of you are more than welcome and expected to visit me when I make the move to Picantemanos at the end of June. If anyone is interested in moving there with me (even just for the summer) to help empower a beautiful Peruvian community, let me know as soon as possible and I'll see if I can figure something out...<br /><br />I hope this email finds you filled with happiness, health and fulfillment.<br /><br /><br />Challenge the Assumptions,<br />AB<br /><br /><strong>Key Trip Statistics</strong><br />Days- 61<br />Showers with Heat- 11<br />Song of Choice- Just get the whole Manu Chao Live Album. Do it, do it.<br />Book Selection- "The Unbearable Lightness of Being" by Milan Kundera<br />Occupation Given on Hostel Registrations- Horse Whisperer<br />Quote of Note- "I like you. Do you like me?." - Borat Sagdiyev<br />Random Person- Krayzie BoneAdam Braunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17009168290066495306noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13545768.post-72574039481917627882007-03-25T11:31:00.000-04:002007-03-25T11:39:20.831-04:00Hola de Uyuni, Bolivia!<br /><br />I have extremely sad news to report- Before leaving La Paz the 2-month beard became an extremely itchy and hideous nuisance. I'd complain to hostel owners about the prickliness of their pillows, only to be embarrassed when they pointed out the fact that it was actually mi barda. The last straw was drawn when I took an extended hot shower in front of a mirror and decided that I honestly didn't recognize my own face... I wanted me back, so I begrudgingly decided to enter a barbershop in La Paz where a man awaited wearing a white butchers jacket, and craftily utilizing tools that I only believed existed in Dr. Seuss books, gave me a classic double cut- Both beard and hair were sliced in a brilliant 30-minute display of pelucaria expertise that featured pump-blowtorch sterilization, paintbrush shaving cream lathering, single-blade shaving-fancy, and antiquated scissors with ancient-clipper-endings. I left feeling like a new man, my old self...Adam was back.<br /><br />That afternoon I took the 9-hour busride to Cochabamba, a rarely traveled city whose cuisine is supposedly just as tenderly sweet as its given name. Before leaving for South America I'd been put in touch with a 24-year old student/model named Dari who had been giving me great travel advice, so when she agreed to help host me in her fair city I had to seize the opportunity... The bus-ride through the mountains was delayed by a protesting pueblo blockading the single-lane highway in an effort to attain gas from 18-wheel tankers, so the spectacular ascent through the Bolivian mountain-range provided both a topographic and social education for the lone gringo on the bus. The planned two-day stay quickly turned into four, as Dari immediately whisked me away with a friend to an amazing churascaria called Buffalo. Churascaria means that it was a restaurant with a set price ($5) for a buffet and constant merry-go-round of waiters offering you as much meat of every variety as one can consume. I voraciously ate to the glorious point of achieving the "meat sweats", which is when an individual eats so much beef that their face becomes flush and an internal heat (often cow demons calling from within) forces the person to sweat from beef saturation. Only after completing this feat, do I consider myself a real man. They call me "Hombre Real."<br /><br />The greatest part of having a local host is that you stay away from tourist traps and get to see a native area through native eyes. Fortunately, among many other things, Dari had really nice eyes. After Buffalo, we went to a great local bar where I conversed with a bunch of Bolivian 20-somethings over Taquina cervezas and finally headed to an underground dance club that played everything from The Doors to hardcore reggaeton. The next few days consisted of eating amazing food all over the city (pique macho might be the greatest dish ever), touring the massive Cancha market, visiting Bolivia's most prestigious and expensive university ($250 per month), drinking and dancing at various pubs/clubs, walking the city streets, and taking in a lively futbol match with Dari and her father... If one wants to learn how to curse in Espanol, my best advice would be to attend a South American soccer game. 25,000 strong continually sang, jumped, danced, screamed, and most importantly, spat obscenities with fervor. Cries of Spanish expletives rained onto the field like luminous verbal confetti for two hours... And when our squad finally scored the eventual 1-0 game-winning goal in the 80th minute of play... Insane Celebration. I swear some of these men were happier than when their first-born child emerged into this world.<br /><br />Leaving Cochabamba was pretty tough as I ate like a king and was amongst amazing company the whole time. Dari was an excellent host and because Cochabamba is a truly Bolivian city, I only saw one backpacker/caucasion in four days, which made for an extremely authentic experience. I then took the overnight bus to Potosi, the once-richest and highest city in the world at 4200m. Upon arrival at 6:15am I took a local bus to the city centro, grabbed an American desayuno and hopped on an all-day tour of the infamous mines. The mountain overlooking Potosi, called Cerro Rico, once produced enough silver to allow the city its own mint (called Casa de la Moneda, "House of Money", which I visited two days later)... Today its resources are heavily depleted yet 15,000+ miners work over 300 mines daily in search of silver, lead and zinc. There is no government intervention or assistance, no bosses or leaders, only small cooperatives that are usually family-based and they thus determine their own hours, risks and exploration sites.<br /><br />After changing into proper garb, exploring the mineral factories, and purchasing gifts of soda and dynamite for the workers (just once I´d like to get soda and dynamite for my birthday), we headed into the mine. Within about 30 seconds it became blindingly apparent that this was no tourist gimmick; we were being taken into a legit mine that was meant for tiny Latin workers, not 6´4¨, 230lb quaterbacks with laser-rocket arms. Surprisingly though, they had a large lounge setup with flat-screen TV´s, internet portals, Skype headsets and two NBA Jam Tournament Edition arcade machines!.. I kid. They had shovels and headlamps. We spent over \n2.5 hours inside of that crazy mine- crawling, coughing, feeling nauseous (many people left), watching the men work, and helping shovel exploded rocks for two minutes before sitting down from exhaustion. I spoke briefly with a 36 year-veteran of the mine who was doing a 12 hour day, and also a 24 year-old who sat beside his 15 year-old brother, both of which began working the mines at age fourteen.<br /><br />Finally we blew up some dynamite outside with the extras we had purchased, and after returning to the city I gorged myself on llama steak. Like my brother Cornelio Guibunda, it was dark, slightly thin and extraordinarily sweet. I had few hours to kill so I entered the magnificent San Francisco Church, only to find myself and one other visitor being taken around by the Spanish-speaking guide. Right away this other visitor seemed weird to me. A 30-something Canadian caucasion male, he dressed every bit the part of a NYC hipster. A tight black jacket over his plain grey t-shirt was tucked crisply into jet-black pants, which were strangely squished inside his shiny black galosh boots. It was sunny and pretty hot outside. The best part by far, was that he wore a massive white Karate Kid headband with three huge Japanese letters, meaning "Fighting Spirit" as he later explained. This was definitely the kind of guy who sipped on $6 lattes daily and then bought 1-ply toilet paper to wipe his ass. Don't ask me what that means, just believe it as truth. Everytime I would translate the guide's Spanish for him, he would rapidly nod at me and say "Asah!" A Canadian white guy. He soon mentioned he'd lived in Tokyo the past 7.5 years, but I swear he said "Asah" over 50 times in the hour we were there. As he rode off afterwords in a light green mountain bike with a huge frontal breadbasket, I cracked up but immediately felt regret that I never got his name... fortunately the fates were kind.<br /><br />Unfortunately though, I mistakenly missed the last bus of the night to Uyuni, so the following internal dialogue ensued- <strong>Problem=</strong> What to do? <strong>Solution=</strong> Toss a coin to see whether I stay in Potosi or head to Sucre for the night. <strong>Problem=</strong> Toss completed. Is this side the heads or the tails on a 5 Boliviano coin? Total mystery. <strong>Solution=</strong> Suchre seems more mysterious, I'm going there... After eating a street hamburger I took the 2.5 hour taxi ride straight to Suchre, for a whopping $3.15. I quickly checked into an alojamiento for 2 bucks a night and went right to Joyride Cafe, a local watering hole where I bled blackink thoughts of reflective appreciation onto the lined pages of my journal... Knowing that my 24 year-old friend had been in that dirty mine 12 hours a day during the past 10 years while I attended basketball practices and frat parties was incredibly humbling... Perspective. Appreciation. Humility. A very powerful day.<br /><br />The next morning I walked the streets of Suchre, Bolivia's "People's Capital" and widely regarded as its most beautiful city with an all-white interior. After viewing the entire city from the gorgeous lookout at La Ricoleta Cafe, I hopped the bus back to Potosi only to miss the Uyuni bus for the second straight night. As frustrating as this was, I had to find some element of positivity and therefore decided it was fate, so I looked for a purpose in my Potosi presence that eve... which became immediately obvious when I noticed the raucous crowds headed to the futbol stadium. One of the biggest matches of the year against a Venezuelan squad started in an hour, so there was only one thing to do- Drain 2 litres of Potosina beer, get as distastefully drunk as possible and join the rowdiest fans in futbol mayhem... The night was a blast, although we tied 2-2 (more screams of "Puta maricone!" from all directions), and I stupidly ate a 45 cent hamburger and fries combo from a street vendor both before and after the game... An Immodium morning followed.<br /><br />So the next day I boarded the seven hour bus to Uyuni. Sometimes you really hit the jackpot with your bus seatmate- a pretty girl, an intriguing conversationalist, or a knowledgeable local. On this day, I lost, and I lost badly. As the obese 50 year-old Bolivian with just four yellow teeth sauntered towards the vacant aisle seat to my left, I didn't think much of it. But when he sat down, I was smacked with an odor unfit for this Earth. I'm 85% sure that in May of 2002, during a drunken game of Truth or Dare, this man chose dare... to which his compadre jokingly challenged, "Okay, okay I've got it. I dare you to become the shittiest smelling man to ever exist on this planet"... As his friend chuckled heartily, this man looked him sternly in his patched eye and said "You don't think I've got the cajones? Alright, I'm gonna do it." Since then he has showered twice a day in 4-month old rancid milk and blow dries himself with bottled hangover breath... I would have called him out for later forging his son's ticket, but I was too scared of being stabbed with a poisonous fart. <br /><br />That night I got some solid rest and the next morning joined six Israelis, all my age, on a 3-day jeep tour of the Salar de Uyuni. To say that it felt like we were often on another planet would be a gross understatement. The enormous salt flats are one-of-a-kind with miles of bleached white land, often with an inch or so of water creating a wild mirror effect. As our truck came upon the first tiny salt pyramids, a dark blur flashed past us... It was the crazy Canadian riding his bicycle into the water! Sadly, after 3 hours of riding on dry salted land he got stuck and had to turn around, so I had time to find out his name and seven-year occupation in Japan. I expected, "Well I was an accupuncture specialist, and my name is Ted," Nope, way way better. "I worked in facility maintenance, and my name is Vinna." Vinna!? Vinna!!!? Life is a trip man. Anyway, in the middle of nowhere was a huge island of cacti, later a forest of tree-like rocks, soonafter thermal pools, geysers and amazing colored lakes with pink flamingos... The 3 days were a gorgeously wicked goodtime, especially considering the seven of us shared some hysterical conversations, sing-a-longs and one excellent Shabbat dinner with cheap wine and stale bred... I'm now back from the tour, heading to La Paz and then there's another week in southern Peru.<br /><br />Bolivia was a country I originally did not intend to visit. Most just don't go, so I figured why bother. A planned five days has unintentionally blossomed into two weeks. In those two weeks, between the jeep and bus rides I've probably spent well over 40 hours staring out the window through disbelieving eyes, inhaling the oceans of stunningly diverse landscapes. This is by far the least traveled of the major South American countries, but it's offered so much through its natural beauty every single day...Rigid outlines of silhoutted mountain ranges rested each morning on a technicolor horizon, only hours after the same sky was peppered with salty stars. Angry geysers hissed sulfuric fuy and thermal pools sweated steam into the chilled air as the sun awoke. Lemon-dry plains stretched towards cloud-shadowed mountains that mocked the goats, llamas and alpacas below with brown contempt. Vanilla swirls were both lost and found on the slopes of cherry clay mounds. Tired volcanoes waned through rear windows, begging to be noticed by the charitable passage of time. Lakes appeared without warning or provocation, each dyed a different shocking color- blood red, topaz blue, oak brown, jade green- perfectly placid mirrors only disturbed by the occasional movement of the resident flamingos, which lazed about like brazen birthday candles. Ruined stone walls stood as skeletal reamins to what once was, or what never became. Dirt roads caved through lush countrysides like dried veins, snaking from peak to valley with vericose intent. Serated sand dunes flexed cracked surfaces from the 10,000 winds of natural expression. Towering mountains appeared and passed like tracing paper, witnessed by the lone few in passing...<br /><br />Traveling through Bolivia is a road not taken by many, which is simultaneously its greatest weakness and strength. I urge anyone who ventures to this part of the world to spend some time in this magnificent country. Two roads diverged and during these past two weeks my experience has been within the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.<br /><br />Challenge the assumptions,<br />AB<br /><br /><br /><strong>Key Trip Statistics</strong><br />Days- 52<br />Showers with Heat- 8<br />Beard Status- Deceased<br />Song of Choice- "This Must Be the Place" by Talking Heads... Checkout String Cheese Incident's "This Must Be the Place Jam" for a rehashed and extended jam version.<br />Book Selection- "The Giver" by Lois Lowry... forever great.<br />Quote of Note- "He not busy being born is busy dying." -Bob Dylan<br />Random Person- Teddy "Sometimes Serious, Sometimes Delirious, Always Tiberius" FarkasAdam Braunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17009168290066495306noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13545768.post-6862838234346953122007-03-16T20:37:00.000-04:002007-03-17T13:44:22.960-04:00South American Adventures- Part 4: Machu Picchu and TiticacaHola de La Paz, Bolivia!<br /><br />Immediately after sending out the last update I took several public pickup trucks to a very very remote town called Palestina, to live with a man named Joel Puac who had approached me a week earlier at Las Cristalinas and kindly invited me to live in his home for as long as I liked in exchange for some English lessons. It was a big risk to go solo into the mountains of Gautemala with just the man's name and his town (he doesnt have an address... he just lives at the end of one of the dirt roads) but it turned out to be one of the best travel experiences I've ever had.<br /><br />I could write about my three days in Palestina for hours, but I'll make an attempt at brevity. After boarding a truck to Palestina several people directed me down a dirt road where I found Joel tending to his chickens. He showed me around his small property (two multi-purpose rooms, chicken stalls, three dogs, a cow, some space for growing coffee and corn). His wife and kids were in another town for the night so he introduced me to his father, a man who lived next door and only spoke in whispered "ahhs" or sighs that could express any emotion. He proudly wiped the dust off his 40 year old framed picture of the NYC skyline, and the three of us talked for several hours about life, religion, family, youth, and American vs. Guatemalan culture. Pretty soon Joel pulled out his massive portable cassette recorder, a Spanish-English dictionary and two books. He said "these are how I study my English everynight" and my eyes almost bugged out of my head...<br /><br />The first book was the Bible, which I completely expected and respected. The second was a pamphlet, sponsored by Phillip Morris USA with two fakely smiling Latinos on the cover, called (I swear this is true), "Raising Kids Who Don't Smoke"!!! I thought it was too absurd to be true (like the kid I saw earlier that week in Guatemala wearing an orange shirt that said "White Plains Basketball"), but apparently life has a lot of humor to it. He asked me to read as much as I liked into the recorder, which he would then listen to via headphones everynight to improve his English... The American Dream man, the American Dream. Over the next three days we visited the indigenous town of Santa Clara, I read the first 50 proverbs from Salomon and the entire pamphlet into the recorder (2 hours worth), his wife taught me how to make corn tortillas and educated me on raising chickens, I spoke with several of his neighbors who told me a non-Guatemalan had never stayed in their village before, we walked to an amazing lookout over Lake Atitlan, and generally enjoyed mutually eye-opening conversation. Before leaving I exchanged gifts with his son Elgar, and thanked them for the incredible experience.<br /><br />After a night in Santa Cruz la Laguna and another in Guatemala City before a 7am flight, I flew to El Salvador for a 5 hour layover and arrived in Lima, Peru at 7pm that night. From there, things got damn tasty... About a week earlier I had tried using a site called <a onclick="return top.js.OpenExtLink(window,event,this)" href="http://couchsurfing.com/" target="_blank">couchsurfing.com</a> (where people offer travelers a free nights stay at their homes) and was led to a 26 year-old Peruvian named Henry Laureano. After some email and IM banter, he ended up deciding to pick me up from that airport, give me a brief tour of Lima that night, take me to this amazing Peruvian hole-in-the-wall hamburger joint, provide a bed at his parents' home and they drove me back to the airport at 3:30am for my 6am flight to Cusco! Henry had a real penchant for using the English word "deleeseous" when describing burgers, so I believe one sentence went something like, "McDonalds is very deleeseous like Burger King which is huge deleeseous, oh and Wendys is so so deleeseous, but I think this place is muy muy deleeseous, more deleeseous than the others because it tastes so natural deleeseous." Clearly he is the absolute man and the generosity that the entire Laureano family displayed towards me was truly unforgettable.<br /><br />Upon arriving in Cusco I checked into a hostel and immediately jumped on a tour of the ruins around the spectacular city. Cusco, aka the Navel ofthe World, was the center of the Incan empire when it stood at its height before the New World took over... I went to 5 different sites, the highlights of which were the Sun Temple Qolcancha and the incredible, get this, say it aloud, Saqsaywaman ruins. Yup. Awesome. After the tour I had a fantastic 4-course meal for 95 cents with a lovely 30 year old Argentinian girl I'd met on the tour who I am hoping will host Scott and I when we venture to her hometome of Buenos Aires in a month. Always great to meet good people on the road. The next two days consisted of hours spent drinking in the city by the gulps- Cruising around the San Blas barrio, bargaining for a gorgeous piece of abstract art, witnessing a wedding at La Merced Inglesia, taking in a great cultural dance show, going out until 5am on the Plaza de Armas where every bar gives you a free drink upon enterring, learning salsa from Peruvians in an unmarked 3rd floor locals club, shopping in markets while speaking with vendors about their lives for hours, and then taking a late-night train to Aguas Calientes so I could see Machu Picchu at sunrise.<br /><br />The train seated 4-people per section facing one another, and of course I got seated with a Danish family of Jehova's witnesses. The kindly 70 year-old father was politely engaging when telling me that I had to read the Bible in its entirety and recognize my path to G-d. I decided to forgo mentioning the heresy of my Hebrew tattoo, but I came very close after his wife fell asleep and he spent the next hour incessantly picking his nose and overtly scratching his balls... we were directly facing each other with less than 3 inches separating our legs, and yet this guy was pulling off the lift, scratch and tuck every 5 mins! I just started laughing out loud after one particularly vigorous ball tug, to which he closed his eyes, tilted his head back and smiled through closed eyes of pure content. Ohhh the glories of man...<br /><br />To put it simply, Machu Picchu is my favorite site I have ever visited... better than the Taj Mahal, Great Wall of China, Western Wall, Vatican, the Louvre, or Christian Sorensen's left trapezius muscle. I woke up extremely early to make sure I was one of the first to enter the site at 6am, and the result was breathtaking. Misty chilled rains exuded an eerie feeling of ancient mystique. Tired clouds exhaled along the mountain sides, eventually enveloping the few silent spectators in the serene air. After several hours just staring awe-struck from a distant terrance, I explored the ruins from up close for about an hour before scaling the large mountain behind the site called Waynapicchu. The challenging 45 minute hike ended with a spectacular view from the fortressed ruins above... Again as one of the first few at the top, I spoke with a humble Peruvian groundskeeper for about an hour before descending to a slightly lower terrace, where I spent 3 hours just staring through echoed eyes, listening to music, writing in my journal and meditating. Eventually the sun shone through around 11am and motivated by the warm heat I ascended to the beautiful peak of the mountain before hiking back down, exploring the ruins further, and finally leaving around 1:30pm... 7.5 hours after enterring Machu Picchu's entrance gate. Chills from head to toe.<br /><br />The natural high I felt upon returning to Aguas Calientes seeped through every cell in my body, and fed me in my return to Cuzco, immediate overnight 8 hour bus to Puno and then the 7am bus over the Bolivian border to Copucabana. From there I ventured via a \n1.5 hour boat ride to Isla Del Sol on Lake Titacaca with two great 28 yaer-old travelmates, Connie from Ireland and Joe from Australia. Lake Titicaca is the highest lake in the world at about 4000m, and La Paz in the highest capital city in the world as well... Anyway we checked into a gorgeous hostel for $2 each and hiked up the island to have some of the famed fresh trout. The result was Scott Braun (equation: Scott Braun=Amazing). After a delicious meal overlooking the gorgeous lake, surrounding Bolivian hills, the nearby Isla del Luna, and the Andes Mountains in the distant horizon, we hiked to some Incan ruins and took 360 degree panoramic pictures of what I can only describe as a draw-dropping sunset. We then returned to get another trout and mate (tea) meal in a candlelit restaurant because the island had no elecricity. Magic. Pure magic in that place. Upon leaving the restaurant we were greeted with the most brightly visible Milky Way I've ever seen and a congested sky of welcoming stars... I saw my first satellite (like a small star but moving.. sooo cool) and after the dodgy 30-minute walk back in the dark we went up to the hostel roof to take pics while sharing glorious conversation and local cookies.<br /><br />The next morning we returned to Copacabana and took a stunning drive through the Bolivian mountains to reach La Paz, where we relaxed at an Irish travelers pub and I had my first-ever helpings of both lasanga and hot whiskey (great for relieiving congestion)... La Paz is a wild capital city, built literally into the mountains but a full city nonetheless... For now I'll be in Bolivia for 10-12 days before returning to Peru to travel the southern coast... Life on the road has truly never been better.<br /><br />The greatest lesson I've learned in the past two weeks has been to take chances; trust in the inherent goodness of others. As a traveler you are often told not to trust anyone. Keep your eye on your bag and your hand on your waistpack that should be tucked as close to your goods as possible. Well, the recent exposure to people like Joel, Henry, Joe and Connie have taught me that great people do exist in every corner of the globe, but their light can only shine when you remove your personal blockades of inherent fear. Perhaps it's naivete on my behalf but this trip has certainly had its few downs and many ups so far, and the greatest highs have only been reached through the trusting interactions and guidance of others. I have no guidebook with me, just the kind words of advice that I receive from fellow travelers and locals. I urge anyone who has read this far to take a chance next time you hesitate to trust a friend or a stanger. Put your faith in the inherent goodness of others, and the positive vibrations you spread will likely be reciprocated exponentially... and if that doesn't work, try <a onclick="return top.js.OpenExtLink(window,event,this)" href="http://couchsurfers.com/" target="_blank">couchsurfing.com</a> :-)<br /><br />Challenge the assumptions,<br />AB<br /><br /><br /><strong>Key Trip Statistics</strong><br />Days- 44<br />Showers with Heat- 5<br />Beard Status- Semi-Wolverining<br />Song of Choice- "To Let" by Xavier Rudd. Didj, guitar, throbbing drums and a spicy time had by all.<br />Book Selection- Vernon God Little by DBC Pierre... Hysterical first-person narration with biting wit.<br />Quote of Note- "Knowledge can only take us to the end of the diving board. It's faith that gives us the courage to jump." -Elizabeth Lesser<br />Random Person- Richie SamboraAdam Braunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17009168290066495306noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13545768.post-78259586461652421522007-03-04T14:00:00.000-05:002007-03-04T14:04:57.452-05:00South American Adventures- Part 3: Silence and Fire<span id="misp_0_1" class="hm">Hola</span> amigos <span id="misp_0_2" class="hm">del</span> <span id="misp_0_3" class="hm">mundo</span>!,<br /><br />If it's possible to extend a hearty hug via email then I'm doing that now. I hope that this update finds each of you in a great mood, and if not then print this up and read it on the toilet later today. Trust me, it's a great time to read excessively long emails… I'm currently in San Marcos la <span id="misp_0_4" class="hm">Laguna</span>, Guatemala at the <span id="misp_0_5" class="hm">Las</span> <span id="misp_0_6" class="hm">Piramides</span> meditation center. I've been here for a little over three weeks completing their "moon course" that, in case the name didn't give it away, follows the lunar cycle. To give a brief description of this magical place, which every single one of you should absolutely visit no matter where your commitment to spirituality stands-<br /><br /><span id="misp_0_7" class="hm">Las</span> <span id="misp_0_8" class="hm">Piramides</span> was started by a Guatemalan woman named <span id="misp_0_9" class="hm">Chati</span>, who comes from a family of healers and astral travelers. During one particularly powerful vision she was told to create her spiritual center near the three volcanoes of Lake <span id="misp_0_10" class="hm">Atitlan</span>, which led to her selecting the quiet holistic town of San Marcos. I assumed this place would be a hostel with meditation and yoga classes, but it is actually far, far more. It is a community of people, that are rapidly unified through a deeply significant experience…Each full-time resident (at the present moment there are 13 of us from the US, Canada, Ireland, Chile, Israel, France, Japan, and the Cayman Islands) lives in a pyramid-shaped small wooden hut on the verdant two-acre property and is expected to attend the four daily courses that last about an hour and fifteen minutes each. The courses all take place in the candle-lit pyramid-shaped Sun Temple next to the medicinal herb garden. <br /><br />You just can't help but feel something mystically present upon first entering the beautiful wooden structure, which has space for about 15 people seated on mats in a circle around the small center pyramid. There's no major lighting at night so either you grow accustomed to walking around in the dark or some people use flashlights occasionally. We share a kitchen with no dishwasher, refrigerator, microwave or toaster but most of us cook every single meal ourselves. We hand-wash our clothes and hang them to dry on clotheslines, often flush the toilets but dumping a jug of water in the basin, and generally live in a pretty naturalistic state. It takes a few days of acclamation, but it's absolutely great. Actually in my first hour here I tried to strike up a friendly conversation with two guys who refused to respond. It turns out they're part of the 3-month sun course, which includes a 40 DAY vow of silence that they are currently undergoing. That's tough.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; text-decoration: underline;">Below is the daily schedule I kept throughout my first week here-</span><br />6:30am- Awake to go watch sunrise over the lake<br />7am- <span id="misp_0_11" class="hm">Hatha</span> yoga<br />9am- Cook breakfast of 4-egg Rocky Mountain Toast<br />10am- Meditation followed by metaphysics lecture<br />12pm- Create broken-glass artwork with crazy Frenchman nicknamed Merlin<br />1pm- Make two PB&J sandwiches for lunch (thanks to Ryan "No Limit" Silva)<br />2pm- Swim in lake, treading water for 15 <span id="misp_0_12" class="hm">mins</span>, jump off 45 ft <span id="misp_0_13" class="hm">cliffdive</span><br />3pm- Catnap a la Shaun McNamara<br />5pm- Meditation followed by spiritual introspection exercises<br />7pm- <span id="misp_0_14" class="hm">Hatha</span> yoga<br />9pm- Cook dinner of either rice or spaghetti dish<br />10pm- Journal and go to sleep <br /><br />Needless to say this is easily the healthiest living I have ever committed myself to… Days are passed in meditation, reading or <span id="misp_0_15" class="hm">journaling</span> in shaded gardens, swimming in the pristine lake, cooking deliciously uncreative meals, and all without indulgence in any substances that poison the body. Along with a few others I recently completed a 5-day course on how to give an <span id="misp_0_16" class="hm">Ayurvedic</span> Indian head massage… so I got that going for me… which is nice. Hysterically it was taught by a Bulgarian woman named <span id="misp_0_17" class="hm">Nadie</span>, so the quotes like, "you girls need to <span id="misp_0_18" class="hm">verk</span> your muscles, your hands are so puny and <span id="misp_0_19" class="hm">veak</span>! <span id="misp_0_20" class="hm">hehehe</span>" were amazing. In our metaphysics courses we've learned and discussed theories of astral travel, lucid dreaming, spiritual health, esoteric religious <span id="misp_0_21" class="hm">mysticisms</span>, balancing one's <span id="misp_0_22" class="hm">chakras</span>, <span id="misp_0_23" class="hm">kabbalah</span>, tarot, numerology, astrology, <span id="misp_0_24" class="hm">kyballion</span>, and the deepest levels of introspection possible. The days pass slowly but gently here, although in retrospect it feels as though my time here has passed far too quickly. The final five days were spent in complete silence, something that is way harder than I ever realized… The purpose was to save the energies normally expended on conversation, and direct them towards deeper self-analysis of one's own spiritual existence, ideals, realities and ultimate mission… Obviously it was highly intense, especially with the almost cult-like but amazingly cool closing ceremony. Overall though, a truly phenomenal experience.<br /><br />I could write about the beauty and depth of the experience that this place provides for the next 100 pages, but I will simply say that I highly recommend spending some time here for any individual. Just as I have often described <span id="misp_0_25" class="hm">Koh</span> Tao, Thailand as my closest conception of physical Paradise, this is my Eden. The indigenous peoples are a beautiful race of welcoming souls, and the ex-pats who have moved here are all great, funky people. As one guy said to me recently, "Look at this place, it's seriously camp." It's almost as though a bunch of random people decided that they wanted to do the one thing that made them happiest, which they lacked the talent to do professionally in their home towns. One guy moved here and opened the restaurant <span id="misp_0_26" class="hm">Unicornia</span>, simply so that he could start a band which he fronts every night as if he is a rock legend filming an episode of VH1 Storytellers. He does 10 minute sound checks before songs, tells absurd stories that no one believes are true, has a 1980's psychedelic visualization playing on the big-screen behind his amateur three-piece salsa band, and wears outfits that would make Grand Master Flash proud. The crazy Frenchman who runs <span id="misp_0_27" class="hm">brokenglass</span> artwork classes fervently dislikes Americans, solely because he believes he was a Native American in a past life and had his land stolen. His real name is Alan but here, he actually goes by the name Merlin. During parties at homes or bars there's always a mix of jugglers, fire dancers, yoga-pose performances, guitarists, <span id="misp_0_28" class="hm">djembe</span> and <span id="misp_0_29" class="hm">dijereedoo</span> players, and there's even one guy who puts on a devil sticks performance with fire!! I mean, really?! Devil sticks man!<br /><br />On several afternoons I've taken the public transportation (about 50 people standing while holding onto a metal pole in the back of a pickup truck) to the surrounding towns on the lake to play some pickup basketball, buy groceries at local markets, take in the beauty of the lake via a trip to the tranquil beach of <span id="misp_0_30" class="hm">Las</span> <span id="misp_0_31" class="hm">Cristalinas</span>, and checkout the nightlife scene over in San Pedro (an extremely cheap hub for backpackers looking to enjoy a town where cool movies are played every night at restaurants with excellent food, weed is practically legal and short local women seriously walk around with chocolate cakes on their heads throughout bars at night <span id="misp_0_32" class="hm">hahah</span>… they clearly know how to cater to their crowd). Each of these ventures has further given me the impression that Guatemalans are among the kindest people in the world, as they continually greet strangers with toothless smiles and warm calls of "<span id="misp_0_33" class="hm">Hola</span> amigo! De <span id="misp_0_34" class="hm">donde</span> <span id="misp_0_35" class="hm">esta</span>?" <br /><br />Possibly the best night of the trip so far occurred earlier last week when a 41 year-old ex-pat named Rick threw a birthday party at his house. On a whim we went with the <span id="misp_0_36" class="hm">mohawked</span>, tattooed Julie (who two weeks ago told us at breakfast that she'd been crying the night before because, "After 27 years of existence, I finally realized that I am gay." Wow, talk about sharing with new friends) through the unlit <span id="misp_0_37" class="hm">dirtpaths</span> and rocky hill up to Rick's house… The scene was absolutely awesome. About 40-50 people from every corner of the globe, each uniquely true to their own self and style, had gathered to share one great night in the presence of one another. A sick electronic DJ played throbbing beats throughout the house/patio as people talked, played <span id="misp_0_38" class="hm">djembe</span> drums and danced. New friends conversed in the kitchen, others <span id="misp_0_39" class="hm">seshed</span> in the dimly lit rooms of the guest area, and the massive patio doubled as a great <span id="misp_0_40" class="hm">dancefloor</span> under a brilliant star-salted sky… each person just finding their own groove, their inner jam, expressing themselves in whatever way felt right (which for one guy was putting on a 15 minute fire-twirling show)… Again, impossible to describe, but easily one of the best party scenes I have ever been a part of… very reminiscent of the small but amazing nightly gatherings in <span id="misp_0_41" class="hm">Koh</span> Tao.<br /><br />I feel like this email hasn't been too overtly dramatic for a 3-week period, probably because it is truly impossible to accurately relay the internal travels experienced when spending weeks calming one's mind to a state where continuous revelations are illuminated and explored. One thing I'd like to share is a realization I had during a very simple yoga exercise the other morning, which anyone can do now by taking one minute to stand up, place your bare feet together so ankles are touching, and close your eyes. Take off your shoes, stand perfectly straight, so as to draw a straight line from the top of your head, through your pelvis and down to the heels of your feet. Attempt to maintain that position with your eyes closed for a minute, and see what you feel in your body… Go ahead, just try it. I'll wait about a paragraph away in time…<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />You will invariably notice that the maintenance of balance requires many, many small movements. Tiny distributions of weight from one area of the body to another are necessary to retain a position of comfort, consistency and strength. The metaphor in this basic exercise seemed so clear when considered- Like life's path, even when we think we are remaining in one place we are constantly in motion through innumerable modifications and shifts. At every moment we are altering ourselves both internally and externally to accommodate the dynamism of existence. While that point of perfect, immovable balance will always be present, it can never be fully attained. It is like the shadow which can be intuitively felt within grasp, but never wrangled into our absolute physical possession. The best we can ask of ourselves is to place pride and honor in each of our adjustments, whether large or small, acting with conscience and nobility at all times… The tiny actions may seem insignificant, but they collectively allow us to stand tall.<br /><br />Challenge the assumptions,<br />AB<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; text-decoration: underline;">Key Trip Statistics</span><br />Days- 30<br />Showers with Heat- 1<br />Beard Status- Respectable fullness, <span id="misp_0_42" class="hm">unrespectable</span> length... but getting there<br />Song of Choice- "Longtime" by Salmonella Dub… its sunshine for your ears.<br />Quote of Note- "The secret of life is enjoying the passage of time." –Richie Havens<br />Random Person- Mr. <span id="misp_0_43" class="hm">Belding</span>Adam Braunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17009168290066495306noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13545768.post-39498651175064397432007-02-15T15:35:00.000-05:002007-02-15T16:49:45.036-05:00South American Adventures- Part 2: Pyramids and VolcanoesHola part-time amigos y lovers,<br /><br />I'm growing a beard. It's getting pretty wicked already, and has nothing to do with the recent events of the trip, but I just felt like leading with that fact... Another quick observation I'd like to note is that the Mayan kings have unbelievably cool names. The major builder of Tikal was named Lord Chocolate, and the two greatest leaders of Copan were King Rabbit the 18th and the 15th rey, <span style="font-weight: bold;">King Smoke Snail.</span> Lord Chocolate clearly loved himself some Hersheys, but what the hell did King Smoke Snail do to earn that name? Regardless, he is clearly a man with style.<br /><br />I'm now in San Marcos la Laguna, Guatemala. After writing the previous email I returned to my hostel and engaged in an hour-long Spanish conversation with a 18 year-old Honduran kid about the paths of our divergent lives, our experiences traveling foreign and domestic lands, and the absurdities of the fact that Americans tip as much as they do. It doesn't sound like much, but because so few Hondurans ever travel out of their country it was really enlightening to hear his varied opinions and perceptions.<br /><br />The next morning I took a bus across the border back towards Antigua, Guatemala (this time when the authorities tried to rip me off I began asking questions about why/what I was paying and they immediately let me pass for free) and arrived around 7pm. After checking into my Black Cat Hostel, I went out to the parque central to grab a bite and witness the children's festival they happened to be hosting that night. As I crossed the street I heard someone call out my name and guess who I see... the Jungle guy!! Arturo, my Polish-Californian compadre from Flores had just gotten into town as well and we perused the park while he talked again about sleeping in the jungles- "Yea man in Lanquin it was windy so the mosquitoes didn't bother me at all, but it seems pretty arid out here. The night birds should be nice and the ground is soft bro, hahaha, I love it man! What can I say." Upon entering the parque some 4'6" Guatemalans immediately offered us a multitude of drugs, some of which I'd never even heard of, and Arturo struck up a conversation. I watched the impressive 10-minute firework show above us and next thing I know Arturo had bartered his service of "I'll do anything you want" for a sleeping space on the floor of their home. We took a pic, swapped emails, and his last words to me as he left were, "Haha bro, I hope I don't spend the night in jail! I have no ideas what these little fuckers want from me"... the epilogue to the story is that the next day I saw one of the mini-sized Guatemalans on the street and asked que paso con Jungle-man, and he said he was crazy but that he slept on their floor. The following day I got an email from Arturo that simply said "here's my email, great to meet you." The subject, was "Monkey Brains."<br /><br />That night I went out to a bar with a German and some Dutch kids, and the next morning explored the massive market before embarking on a tour to climb the Volcano Pacaya that overlooks Antigua. We were supposed to pay 25Q to enter the national park but a band of angry Guatemalans surrounded and boarded our bus yelling passionate Spanish. For a minute I thought I was going to have to go into Jackie Chan mode, but it turned out they were livid with the government for ignoring their pleas for a new school...so as punishment they were going to let us all enter the park for free, thus the government wouldn't benefit from our patronage. Gotta love social activism in action... I definitely cannot accurately describe how cool a two hour hike on volcanic rock is, nor the sweetness of actually seeing active lava within 3 feet of you, but I will just say this. We brought marshmallows and chocolate and made lava smores, which is something I doubt I'll ever be able to do again. We then debated over whether someone should touch the lava simply to get a nasty burn, so whenever someone asked you about your scar you could say, "Yea thats from molten hot liquid magma... no big deal." The sunset behind the volcano was perfect as well, and after returning around 10pm I went bar-hopping with a few friends while our other newly-made amigos "went to score some blow."<br /><br />The following day I left behind the beautiful old-world city of Antigua and took several chicken buses to get to Lake Atitlan, where I am currently at the Las Piramides meditation center in the town of Los Marcos. However I did spend my first night on the lake in the most popular town here, which has been appropriately named The Amsterdam of Guatemala, San Pedro. It's a very cool backpacker town with lots of people pushing crazy drugs and many a rooms for $2 a night, but it wasn't what I came here for so after one nice night I came over to Las Piramides. I could write many many pages on the magic of this place, but I'll stop the email here and wait until next time to discuss the gifts that this place bestows upon its residents.<br /><br /><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Random Trip Statistics<br /><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span></span><span style="text-decoration: underline;"> </span></span>Days- 14<br />Showers with heat- 1<br />Beard Status- Moderately respectable in a "aww, he's trying" kind of way<br />Song of Choice- "Helplessly Hoping", as covered by Richie Havens (<span style="font-style: italic;"> attached</span>. turn it up, close your eyes, and drink in this LYRICAL MASTERPIECE that Richie reworks into his own tasty gem)<br />Random Person- Rick Flair aka The Nature Boy<br /><br />Lastly, some of you may recall that in my first mass email on Semester at Sea, I wrote about the powerful symbolism behind seeing two seagulls flying together several hundred miles from land... I'd like to share one thought I had while swimming in Lake Atitlan yesterday, wherein a small butterfly flew past me at a height of a mere foot or two above the choppy waves. It was a hazy afternoon so San Pedro (a mile away across the lake) could not be directly seen, but surely felt. It amazed me to see the butterfly teetering above the water alone, as it boldly flew directly into the path of nothingness where I'm sure it assumed land must be... It reminded me of so many peers, who like myself, feel something great along our horizons but fear reaching for it because it cannot be viewed in plain sight. The message was alarmingly simple. Take a chance. Fly alone for a little while in the direction that your soul tells you is right... There just might be greatness on the other side of the lake.<br /><br />I hope this email finds each of you strengthened with health, happiness and fulfillment.<br /><br />Challenge the assumptions,<br /><span class="sg">Adam</span>Adam Braunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17009168290066495306noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13545768.post-1170898775320374362007-02-07T20:38:00.000-05:002007-02-07T20:41:17.033-05:00South American Adventures: Part 1- Candles and WatermelonHola amigos y part-time lovers,<br /><br />Greetings from Copan Ruinas, Honduras! If you're receiving this you're on my email list from which I'll be sending out updates from Central and South America over the next 3-4 months. These may get a little lengthy because they'll be serving as a pseudo-journal for me during the travels, but I'll try to be brief without leaving off too much. I'll also be posting these at http://www.arbraun.blogspot.com , so you can check that if you wanna read these later.<br /><br />Anyway, I flew from NYC to Guatemala City on Friday, February 2nd. My supposed-friend Matt Wiggins was rumored to travel with me through Guatemala and Peru during the first two months, but will be joining me two weeks late so for now I'm solo. Upon arrival in GuatCity (reputed as one of the most dangerous in Central America) I immediately took a cab to the bus station and bought a ticket to Coban. After using the bathroom where a real midget filled up the bowl with water after each flush (keep in mind, his head level was at my ehh-ehmm level) I boarded the 5.5 hour public bus with about 60 Guatemalans. The ride was my first exposure to the verdant countryside of lush rolling mountains and it was quite breath-taking. Listening to the smooth sounds of Richie Havens made it all the better, and I couldn't help but smile until they put on a Hillary Duff movie in Spanish... I mean, come on, you've got to be kidding me.<br /><br />In Coban I went to the first decent hostel in site, appropriately named "Hotel Cheepy-Cheepy", which turned out to be so cheap that it had no running water. In desperate need of a shower after 12 hours of travel, I switched to La Casa Luna where I roomed with two great Aussies from Sydney. That night led to great conversation while they both played beautiful guitars in the room, and later on 5 blazed Israelis arrived and we all watched Snakes on a Plane together. A perfect ending to a perfect first day...<br /><br />The next morning we boarded a 7am bus to Lanquin where we stayed at an amazing hostel called El Retiro. If you're in Guatemala, go there for sure. I took a local ride to Semuc Champey which is an incredible natural wonder with beautiful emerald green pools and a 30k bat cave you can explore. I insisted the locals call me Bruce Wayne... okay that never happened... I went with two French-Canadian girls and a guide for the day, as we walked, climbed waterfalls and swam through the first 3k of the pitch-black caves while holding candles to illuminate the way the entire time. It was genuinely one of the coolest experiences of my life- Awesome, awesome stuff. That night the hostel held a huge Mexican BBQ with great music blasting, people twirling fire, juggling, dancing everywhere, sharing great conversations and better laughs. My favorite quote of the night that embodied the spirit of place was when I asked my Aussie buddy what our room number was, and his accurate response was, "Puma"... I easily could have stayed there for a week, but I'm on a tight schedule so I left at 7am the next morning for Flores.<br /><br />Flores is the jump-off point to go see the famed Mayan ruins of Tikal. After the 7 hour ride to Flores I got some grub, jammed with some other backpackers about cool locales, and watched the Super Bowl in a small cafe with some other Norteamericanos. The game was great, def a unique experience in Guatemala, but the undoubted highlight was Prince... I don't know what the general response has been, but he was pretty kick-ass in my eyes.<br /><br />The next morning was a 3:30am wakeup for a sunrise tour of Tikal. We boarded the hour-long bus to the site, and entered in the shrouded mist of darkness and fog. The near-full moon illuminated the silhouettes of the towering temples, which gave me a severe case of the "holy shit this is awesome!" chills. We hiked 30 minutes through the jungle and climbed Temple IV, the tallest scalable temple, and sat overlooking the forest and ruins awaiting the sun's greeting. Although the fog definitely detracted from what could have been a spectacular sunrise, the experience was still amazing and literally hearing the forest come alive with waking cries from howler monkeys and varied birds gave me a second round of the chills. The rest of the morning was spent exploring the massive ruins and viewing playful monkeys, and that evening I met a 23 year-old Polish Californian (I know) with no shirt or shoes, long blond dreads, and we spoke for an hour about different spots while he expounded on the virtues of sleeping in a hammock in the straight-up wild jungles of the world. "I love it bro, I just love sleeping in the jungle.. I just march off into the woods and I'm at peace man... I gotta go change my contacts, I'll be right back but you can use my Mag-Lite if you want" Hahhaa, priceless.<br /><br />The next morning I took the worst of the many many public bus rides I've taken so far. Let's just say I had to hide my money and passport in my shoes cause of certain people on the bus, the guy directly behind me made "tssk-tssk" cracking sound every 20 seconds for 6 hours straight, and the honest highlight of the ride was when a 250lb women sat beside me while crushing my thigh with her thigh-overhang... BUT, she smelled absolutely divine. If the heavens created a scent that made every person immediately happy, it would be her splendiferous scent. As bad as my semi-crushed lungs were feeling under the weight of her meaty elbows, my heart and mind were singing because every time I felt miserable I'd lean over to get a good whiff of her ethereal odor... I'll leave out the shadiness of arriving in Rio Dulce at 11pm to a hard-falling rain and a cab driver openly carrying a gun who offered me a ride, but needless to say I slept in a single-bedroom alone with a shower that was filled with spiders (and I hate spiders).<br /><br />The next morning I left for Copan, Honduras, where I am now. The bus-ride was great (mostly empty) until we switched to a mini-bus in Chiquimula. This bus was meant for 20 maybe, and I swear they put 65 of us in there. As usual I was the only gringo, and I sat next to a 60 year old machete-wielding farmer who was slobbering down a full watermelon piece-by-piece. I couldn't believe that out of everyone there I got seated next to him... this guy had talons for hands and would take a bite of his sliced watermelon with the juice spraying everywhere, in particular all over his entire chin and shirt. It was almost funny, except for the fact that it was one of the grossest things I've ever seen. Think of that scene in the last Lord of the Rings with the guy eating the berries, and imagine being in the most congested bus imaginable with that guy practically sitting on you. I also had a beautiful almond-eyed 5 year old Honduran girl basically sitting on my lap, which made the trip bearable cause she was so cute and friendly. Soon though the old farmer fell asleep and nodded off onto my shoulder. When he suddenly came to an entire massive mouthful of drool fell onto my lap... I saw it outta the corner of my eye and thought, "This can not be happening." Luckily the man above answered my prayer, cause the 5 year old girl was still sitting on my lap and took the bullet hahaha. Ahh, thats terrible, but oh so true. It did get slightly worse as a crying baby was seated on her mothers lap directly behind me and incessantly grabbed/tugged my shirt, but thankfully after 30 mins a bunch of people got off the bus (I swear they got off where there was just a dirt path into the mountains... really crazy but grounding stuff to witness) and I had space to move seats. Finally I shared a good laugh with some of the locals witnessing my misfortune, and spoke a little bit in Spanish about their lives around here.<br /><br />Crossing the border in El Florido was fine, as both the Guatemalan and Honduran authorities illegally ripped me off for about $2 a piece, which is cool by me. Copan Ruinas is about 30 mins away and a 10 minute walk from the detailed Mayan ruins of Copan where I spent today taking it all in. The town is surprisingly charming and last night I shared a great meal and legendary laugh session with an Argentinian guy and German girl. There was just something indescribably cool about laughing your ass off while walking down the Honduran streets and sharing stories/observations as an American with a European and South American... all understanding each other in a combination of English and Spanish. A great night for sure.<br /><br />Thats the full update for now leaving out the parts my grandmothers would not want to hear about the shadiness of certain events. But I'm here safely and incredibly excited for Antigua, Guatemala and Lake Atitlan next. Traveling alone has been challenging at times but it's forced me to meet so many diversely interesting people, relearn my Spanish very quickly, constantly remain stimulated by my surrounding environment, and dig into the depths of introspection that I would otherwise rarely be able to reach...<br /><br />I hope this email finds each of you happy, healthy and fulfilled. This trip has already reminded me that no matter how much you think you know or expect, life will constantly push you further. It pushes you to adapt, to change, to seek new connections and every so often, inhale hope fully. The first sunset I witnessed on this trip was from the bus window on my first night... the sky blazed with an assortment of oranges unlike anything I'd ever seen. I've been fortunate enough to witness incredible sunsets across the world, but there was something uniquely distinct about this one. The same sun I've witnessed every day of my life somehow spoke a new language of expression to me, proclaiming that its ubiquitous presence in my daily life could always be countered by its simple ability to appear as something totally fresh on any given day... That was all I needed to see to put a huge smile on my face. Each day provides something new for each of us, whether you are in New York or California or Atlanta or Honduras. The only question is how you choose to capture and experience that gift.<br /><br />As always, be safe and stay classy,<br />Adam<br /><br />PS: If anyone is interested in traveling around Peru during March lemme know... you're all more than welcome to come along.Adam Braunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17009168290066495306noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13545768.post-1134843973202617142005-12-17T13:25:00.000-05:002005-12-17T13:26:13.206-05:00Eurotrip Update 5- Beergardens and KoreansEmail sent August 2, 2005:<br /><br />At the behest of Sir Dennis Hurley Stratton, the following email will be written from the third perspective... At the limitation of this german keyboard, I will not be using the enter button- Prague was a great time for the two young bearded backpackers as 5 shots of absinth (post several hours of beer drinking) laid a massive dump on the fragile mind of one Lucas Tedaldi the First. The city was fantastically beautiful, with intricate architecture and the viewing of an opera in the national museum. After several days of fun in Prague, where sex was offered and refused at every corner after 6pm, the boys travelled to Munich... They checked into their fine Wombats hostel, and found two polite koreans in their dorm room. The 50 year old seemed kind enough, until the morning came... at that point he woke up at 7am and proceeded to make more noise than any human possible... hocking loogies in the shower, crinkling plastic bags for hours, cutting pears, and being generally rude. Braun's skin was crawling as was Tedaldi's, at which point Braun heard Tedaldi rip a massively long and rude fart in protest of the noise being made by the elderly Korean. Braun silently chuckled and applauded his friend's display of protest, as he was unable to fall back asleep for the next 3 hours due to the sounds of rudeness. Later that day Braun brought up the enormous exhibition of flatulence that Tedaldi had pulled off, and upon telling him how proud he was of Tedaldi, the response was "Dude that wasn't even me! For no reason that asian guy just decided to rip ass! That was the rudest fart ive ever heard!"... Since then Munich has been a great time. Our first day we did go to Dachau, the first concentration camp which i cant really put into words how moving it was (walking though a gas chamber and crematorium is something I only need to do once in my life to feel the hatred of the nazi regime and the cruelty some people possess... which is still prevalent in many parts of the world... damn sorry i broke 3rd person)... the next day the two Brunonians travelled far outside Munich to the Neuwhalty castle (horribly mispelled), which is the inspiration for the Disneycastle/logo... Imagine the disney castle being real, larger, and in the mountains, and you will understand the spectacle of Ludwig II's famed castle. After Tedaldi slugged a liter of fine german beer, he and Braun passed a souvenir shop where they saw an absurd German traditional liederhosen-outfit hat... He immediately bet Braun 50 euro he couldnt wear that hat throughout the duration of the trip (11 more days), and a bet was had... at this very moment, the insanely stupid looking hat is perched on Brauns head. It really wasn't that great a display of rudeness for the mangy 21 year old backpacker, seeing as how he had worn the same outfit EVERY single day of the trip. While reading this his mother turned her head from the screen with a look of disgust for him wearing a t-shirt and shorts for 27 straight days, but it wasnt until now that she grasped that it was the same exact t-shirt and pair of shorts that had been adorned each fine morning... at this point the t-shirt smells of musk, sweat, beer and a small tinge of passionfruit.... some would say it stings the nostrils. The following days in munich were spent walking at least 8 miles a day to see every major site, including the fantastic beer halls and gardens where they saw a man carry 15 glass 1 liter mugs with just two hands, each filled with beers. Upon further questioning, this man informed the boys that he was the world record holder for liter-of-beer carring, with his best being 23 individual litres. Braun retorted that Tedaldi could chug an entire liter straight, to which the beerman replied that a local man easily did 3 in a row and had drank 15 LITERS of beer many a nights... Tedalid's testicles instantly shrank into raisins, so he then chugged a full liter to return them to grape form, and in his attempt not to vomit it back up Braun laughed himself to tears along with the Swiss couple sitting at the table... Yesterday was highlighted with a walk through the English Garden, a park twice the size of Cerntral Park, to the Chinese Tower beergarden where the scene consisted of hundreds of people sitting at picnic tables while drinking liters of beer and eating fine delicacies like fully roasted cornish hens (what?). Earlier that afternoon the boys passed a cafe where they saw a 4 year old girl draining her own PINT of beer next to her parents, who were sipping on pints of their own. It was highly distrurbing, so when the boys ventured to the beergarden they found it necessary to prove their testicular fortitude by slugging several liters of heavy heavy german wheat beer. After becoming pretty "ein-schtobened", they wandered to the nearest park bench and patch of grass and passed out for 3 hours like common hobos... again their parents back in the states were extremely proud.... So the adventure continues as tonight the weary boys take the overnight train to Amsterdam, where they hope to survive 4 days of whatever it is that people do in Amsterdam................................... The two young men deeply miss all those back home, and hope each of the people who read this update will find themselves happy and healthy with a hearty smile on their face. Be safe and stay classy, Adam.Adam Braunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17009168290066495306noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13545768.post-1134843831321925382005-12-17T13:23:00.000-05:002005-12-17T13:25:15.696-05:00Eurotrip Update 4- The Eastern European SwingEmail sent July 25th, 2005:<br /><br />Okay, well Im not really sure where I left everyone off but I know I last wrote from Budapest... The city was really cool, very eastern european feeling, and we had a blast walking for hours and taking it all in. Our final day we went to the Gellert Thermal Baths and pool, which included pool size jacuzzis, an open air pool, beautiful decorations everywhere, and far too many naked elderly men. It was a great relaxer though, except when way too many large european guys in their 50s entered the steamroom immediately after luke and I entered... and right before that this old creepy guy wouldnt give us a towel to enter until he literally watched us take off our shorts and change facing him... all I could think of was American History X and there was no chance i was getting invaded in a damn hungarian steamshower, so I got the hell out of there immediately... from there we went to the crown jewel of this planet- Bratislava, Croatia.<br /><br />Luke and I planned out our eurotrip to include what we thought were the coolest and/or most beautiful cities in Europe that we hadnt previously traveled to.. that said, we really picked some great spots. On our first lengthy train ride though, we were randomly reading through the Lonely Planet Europe Guidebook and came across Bratislava, Slovakia, which it kindly described as the shittiest place on earth. We read about its depressing nature and lack of anything worth seeing, so we immediately decided we needed to go there for a night... i believe it was aristotle that said "you cant smell the roses if you never smell the poo", and ive heard he was pretty smart so that was the mantra for the visit to bratislava... from that point on we talked about bratislava incessantly (or as its name evolved into for us, (said in the thickest russian accent possible)... "The Brautishlaiv"))... it truly became larger than life for us, and everytime we'd see something horrible somewhere we'd describe it as the most beautiful thing that could possibly happen in the brautishlaiv... so we took our 4 hour train ride there and arrived at 11:45pm, in what most sites on google describe as the worst train station in europe.. this is taken from the first site i found on google:<br />Worst Train Station: Bratislava<br />Whoa boy. This is a tough one. Eastern European train stations tend to be filthy, depressing places, so it's hard to finger one as worse than all the rest. That said, Bratislava's pretty much got it all. You can't buy English–language reading material or change money after hours at the Slovak capital's dark, dirty railway station, and the waiting lounge reeks of passed–out winos.<br /><br />This is a gross understatement... Bratislava is the type of place where high fashion includes 60 year old men with all 4 headhairs combed over, wearing capri versions of grey dress slacks and 1982 Reebok hightops, with their distended stomachs screaming out from their button down shirts that have not a single button done... not because they dont want to button their shirts, but because that would make them a part of the hated aristocracy of "people who have anything resembling clothing that looks normal"... we swigged our bottle of wine from the hungarian wine tour (the only way to handle a place that smelled that awful and was that depressing was to get drunk and laugh our asses off) and walked the mile into town and began searching for a hostel... the entire city was desolate on a wednesday night, no people, no cars. Eventually a nice guy helped us find a "orange hostel", which upon our entrance we were so delirious and buzzed that we decided to tell them we'd been jumped on our way there but because luke was a taibo instructor who'd trained with billy blanks we were able to fend them off... they had sympathy for us showing up at 1am, and gave us a "nice room" as they described it... google reviews described our hostel as "Ugly and dirty, not recommended at all. The staff woke me up at 09.30, telling me to get out because they were going to disinfect the room (creepy...)." Again, a gross understatment.. we decided to pee in our own sink because somehow that made our room actually cleaner.<br /><br />So luke and i were beyond pleased with our bratislava experience, it turned out to be the exact shithole we expected and so much more... from there we went to vienna for 3 nights where we had an amazing time... great hostel, good food, unbelievably cool city. This email is already long enough so i wont detail vienna much, but its definitely our favorite european city thus far (although dubruvnik wasnt a city so it cant be compared) so if you go to europe def get to vienna... we just arrived in prague, city of absynth and absynth. <br /><br />K, i hope everyone is having a great summer, staying healthy and happy. As always, id love to hear from all of you.<br />Be safe and stay classy<br />AdamAdam Braunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17009168290066495306noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13545768.post-1134843791165224182005-12-17T13:22:00.001-05:002005-12-17T13:24:31.523-05:00Eurotrip Update 3- The HomelandEmail sent July 20th, 2005:<br /><br />I dont know how many of u know this, but im mainly hungarian... many people guess im italian or israeli or spanish, but the sad truth is im a hungarian... a man of (as someone once gracefully explained to me by reciting verses from Encyclopedia Britannica in a Laurel Avenue living room) Madyar descent, and my father was actually born in the fine city of Budapest... thereby making him a completely foolish immigrant on all matters American... he may have come to New York City at the age of 3, but his ability to speak trash about me at the dinner table to my grandmother in hungarian and his overt affinity for all things related to a dish called "coos-coos", make him a dirty immigrant in my jingoistic eyes... and yes i just used the word jingoistic...<br /> <br />so after leaving the ridiculously beautiful croatian coast for hungary, luke and i decided it would be wisest to take an overnight bus from Dubruvnik to the croatian capital of Zagreb (a small poopstain on the landscape of eastern europe), then take a train to budapest... what we didnt realize was what that entailed... heres the story: the 9pm bus from dubruvnik to zagreb is an 11.5 hour bus, so we were excited to find a somewhat empty back of this busride which would pay for itself by saving us overnight accomodation fees... at the first stop 4 late teenage croatian kids got on and took the rest of the backrow luke had claimed and their other friend sat in the empty seat next to me in the next to last row... i was reading away at the phenomenal Daniel Quinn book Ishmael (everyone should read it, its such a simple read with such a well crafted and profound premise) but after a few hours i looked back to find Luke stifled into the back corner, sweating profusely with the croatian teen doing that hysterical sleeping head nod and tapping onto lukes shoulder before getting off... then diong that over and over and over again... my teen did the same and it drove me crazy too but i woke him up and he stopped... fast forward 7.5 hours to a rest stop at 3:30am, and my fully bearded and mustached travel partner, had been inexplicably transformed into one of my favorite movie characters of the early 90s... TEENWOLF... and not the crappy michael j fox teenwolf who swished every 3pointer and was 5foot2 but somehow dunked on everyone a la wesley snipes in white man cant jump.. he was the boxing teenwolf... eyes bloodshot, sleaves rolled up, sweat dripping, full beard and head of hair frazzled, and his first words to me were "if there is hell on earth, this is it... im freaking out"... for the next 20 minutes i laughed uncontrollably while he convulsed at the knees, staring straight ahead and saying nothing while listening to his ipod... the kid apparently continued falling alseep on his shoulder in the back where he had to pee, was nauseous from the gross salami sandwiches wed made at teh supermarket, was sweating up a storm, and absolutely bugging out... his only words when we got off were "i never wish bad things on anyone but i hope that kid falls in a puddle of horseshit and dies... oh im sorry i didnt realize my shoulder was your fucking pillow, next time why dont u make my knees a fucking legrest!" ... the situation was so absurd i became delirious as well, and the fact that immediately after that ride we walked right onto a 7.5 hour train ride to Budapest in a cabcar filled with 13 year old socialist croatian kids who had a fixation with slamming their armrests throughout the car made things far worse... i laughed myself to death while luke freaked out and pulled a cromagnum man eye twitch... it was amazing...<br /> <br />last night we slept the days travels off cause we obviously slept about 2 hours each in our 19 hours of travel, and today we went on a winetasting tour in the countryside where we both got blasted and i lost it again when the 3 elderly women on the tour got into a fullscale debate about whether Richard Gere was a classically Broadway trained dancer... after that we went into a casino briefly and i felt i was on fire from the wine and fun of the winetour so i started throwing 5 dollar bets on black and other major bets for roulette... and walked away 75 dollars richer, which led to a fantastic reward of a steak dinner... thats it for now, random thoughts to follow<br /> <br />be safe and stay classy<br />adamAdam Braunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17009168290066495306noreply@blogger.com0